a love affair, of sorts
Love: an intense feeling of deep affection.
Af·fair: a matter that is a particular person's concern or responsibility.
It was warm today on Ogygia, but then again, it was always warm there. The sun bit into her cheeks, blistering her eyes, branding her face with those freckles and sunspots that she was eternally sick of. She remembered life before her exile with longing, recollections of the sugary taste of snowflakes melting on her tongue, sticking to her eyelids, dusting through her hair, the memories almost driving her mad with desire. She wished for winter so hard, dreamed about it so often, she often imagined she could feel the harsh breeze lacerating her bare arms, her legs, slicing through her thin strands of hair to make her scalp bleed below. She wished for the pain, the cold, the bitter air of home during the wintertime. And most of all, she just wished for change.
But today, like other sporadic days through the centuries, throughout the millennia of her exile here, today something happened which was like a breath of fresh air after an age abandoned in a stark, dry desert. Today, she had a visitor. Today, Percy Jackson dropped in on Calypso's island.
Literally.
Her moonlace was tired. Its silvered leaves seemed to breathe heavily, as if after a marathon race, and Calypso sensed that something was about to happen. Something different. Something big. After all, her moonlace never lied.
It was then she heard a splash.
Her footsteps were light and fleeting as she wandered towards the shore to investigate. The sand was barely marked where she stepped, as silently and invisibly as one of her servants. She rounded the curve of the beach, and paused, bewildered. For in the lake, in her lake, lay a body.
The body of a man.
Calypso hadn't realised she was running again until she felt the delicious warmth of the water lick up against her ankles. She moved through the gentle waves with the unerring strength and speed of someone who had been doing the same thing over and over, like clockwork, for a very long time. In her case, it was for thousands of years, millennia of watching and waiting for a new hero to arrive.
And today her suffering lessened, because today, she could start anew. She reached the body in the lake, turning him face up so she could examine his face, his eyes, his smile.
Her hero was bruised and burnt. That didn't trouble her; they always were. Hurt in some way or another. It was usually a physical weakness, something she could care for and mend. But sometimes, the pain was something else altogether, and Calypso tried as best she could to ease their suffering. She suspected this new hero was in more pain than she could see. She just hoped she was wrong.
He wasn't heavy at all. She carried him out of the water, and the waves almost caressed him, gently smoothing the hairs down along his skin, making soft whispering noises that, to Calypso, sounded suspiciously like final goodbyes. She frowned. Who was this hero to have the ocean care for him so?
Calypso carried the boy - for she now noticed, at closer look, that he was barely older than fifteen, if that - towards her sanctuary, her home which had hosted many heroes over the years, many loves that she had had to turn aside, to say farewell to, to kiss goodbye.
She hoped that this hero, this boy with raven hair and frown lines on his brow that he shouldn't yet have, for he was too young for the pains of this world, she hoped that he would be different. She hoped that he would be able to stay.
Calypso dribbled nectar into Percy's open mouth. There was a tiny fleck of saliva at the corner of his lips; she wiped it off with a downy towel, combing through his hair with her fingers and rubbing the tension from his sleeping shoulders. He was an odd sort of hero, she mused, watching the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. It was strangely soothing, the several quick intakes and the way his eyelids flickered as he did so, followed by the slow, smooth expelling of air.
She'd learnt quite a bit about him from his murmurs in his sleep. That his name was Percy, for one thing. He was a half-blood, she concluded, piecing it together from his hurried exclamations, infrequent cussing in Greek - from which she blocked her ears - and the fact that, when she uncapped the strange metal stick she'd found in his pocket, a Celestial bronze blade sprung forth, fully formed. Anaklusmos, she had read. Riptide. She'd dropped it with a startled yelp. Percy Jackson possessed a cursed blade, and Calypso didn't much like seeing it.
She recapped the stick and tucked it carefully back inside Percy's pocket.
The hours spent by his bedside turned into days. Morning ticked on towards noon, and noon spun slowly towards dusk.
And as Percy slept, Calypso sang, soothing him, healing him.
Dusk turned to night, and then into morning, and the day began once more.
Calypso sat down beside Percy, laying her palm against his cheek in an affectionate gesture. His face was now as familiar to her as her own was. She knew every freckle, every curve of a cheekbone, every bump and ridge and imperfection. But to her, he was perfection.
Percy's eyes fluttered. Unable to help herself, Calypso bent down, brushed her lips against his; tasting the nectar she had fed him moments before. He mumbled beneath her touch. She pulled back, hardly daring to hold her breath.
"Annabeth," Percy murmured. He sighed the word, whispered it as one may whisper the name of a lover.
Calypso lurched backwards, blinking tears from her eyes.
She never kissed him like that again.
When Percy woke, Calypso was by his side. She felt the jerk of his heartbeat; saw the fierce flutter of his eyelids. She lay a hand down against his chest, preventing him from rising. "Stay still," she whispered. "You're too weak to rise." She dipped a towel into the basin of water beside her and wiped Percy's brow, pouring a steady stream of nectar into his mouth as she did so. She saw his confusion as he blinked into reality. Their eyes met, and his widened. Calypso refrained from smiling, instead opening her mouth to sing. She could practically feel his burns, his pain, and she reached out gentle magical fingers to heal them, knitting his skin back together whole.
"Who?" Percy began, but she cut across him, murmuring, "Shh, brave one." Calypso sighed, looking into his eyes, drawn into their sea green depths with frightening ease. She pulled away. "Rest and heal. No harm will come to you here. I am Calypso."
Percy's eyes flickered closed, and Calypso was reminded of the delicate fluttering of butterfly wings. She laid the cloth against his head again, and began to sing him sweet dreams.
She stood knee-deep in the lake, water lapping up against her legs. She stared up into the blue sky - the sky that was always blue, always clear, always so absolutely perfect. A feeling of anger rose up inside of her, anger so unspeakably raw that she felt she would burst if she didn't set it free.
And so she screamed, a wild, monstrous, Titan-worthy scream. She hadn't been this angry since she was first exiled, aeons ago.
And truth be told, she wasn't so sure why she was so mad. Perhaps the immense probability of Percy's immediate departure, or the fact that here was another hero she couldn't love, because of the gods' curse on her, and so she screamed again, falling forward into the lake, letting the water wash away her pain. But she didn't stay there for long, as the water forced itself down her throat, into her lungs, and she hacked and coughed and screamed again and realised that even though it was a freshwater lake, it still tasted like salty, bitter tears.
Calypso sat up and cried until she could cry no more, until she was an empty shell, hollow, devoid.
She was nothing more than a passing fancy for Percy.
She would be nothing more than a memory.
Nothing more than a dream.
Than a nightmare.
Calypso awoke on the beach, sand caked to her skin. She blinked in the bright light, her eyes quickly adjusting. She felt a crawling up the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her. She whipped around, plait flying. A man stood behind her, watching her with fierce brown eyes. But not just any man. A god. Hermes.
"My lord," Calypso whispered. Hermes had been her only constant companion these terrible years, staying by her side, caring for her when a hero departed, taking with him her heart, her love, over and over again. Sometimes Hermes would merely hold her, murmuring 'sorry's and 'it's alright's into her ears. Other times, they would kiss, which would, more often than not, turn into something far more heated, more intimate. She would fall asleep in his bare-skinned embrace, and when she awoke, he would be gone, leaving her with the smallest of souvenirs from the outside world: a thorny, red rose; the delicate broken shell of a bird's egg; and once, a book, its pages too stark and too white to be parchment. But the gifts he left, even his visits, never made up for the ever-opening hole inside her heart, clawed ajar by the departure of so many heroes, so soon after their arrival.
Hermes held up a gentle hand, smile soft and fragile as he looked at Calypso. "Hush, dear one," he murmured. "I am not here to bring you comfort. I am sorry." She looked into his eyes, always so wide and endearing, but also his mischievous, crooked smile, and the upturned tilt to his eyebrows and nose that told her he was rarely up to any good. She blinked. "I must deliver a message," Hermes continued. "Percy Jackson will not be able to stay here, Calypso. His destiny, his future, is more important than any other hero's who has ever sheltered with you before. You must let him go, when he is ready. You must let him leave."
Calypso took a shuddering breath. She had feared it, of course, but having Hermes, her lover, her only friend, say it in such a straightforward manner made the knowledge all the more unbearable. "What if he chooses to stay?" she asked with a shaky voice, tears clouding her vision. Salty, salty tears.
"He cannot."
"But what if he chooses so? What if he chooses me, me over Annabeth?" As soon as the name slipped out, Calypso regretted it, shutting her mouth and watching with fear as Hermes' face hardened into a cold mask.
"It would do you well to leave that subject - that girl - alone," he stated coolly, before his face softened once more with remorse. "I am sorry. That was unnecessary. But he will not stay, Calypso. This you must understand. He will never choose you. It is not in his nature."
The anger Calypso had felt before - was it yesterday? - built up inside of her again. She could feel her face reddening, tears once again threatening. "It is not for you to decide, Hermes!" she yelled furiously, before quieting her tone. She didn't want to wake Percy. "It is his decision-"
"And he will never choose you, Calypso! You must understand this-"
"I do understand! I've understood for thousands of years. And you- you think I don't know?" A weight seemed to be attached to her heart, pulling it down towards the sandy floor of the beach. "I thought we understood each other, Hermes. I know all about heroes, but I thought, maybe, just maybe, Percy would be different…"
Hermes sighed. "He's not, Calypso. He will hurt you most, out of them all. He-" Calypso saw his eyes move to something just above her head. "He's awake. I must go, my love. But remember-"
"He cannot stay. I know. I know." Hermes gave her a sad look, leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and then he was gone in a whirl of dust and sand. "I know, I know," she repeated, whispering it like a mantra, collecting her thoughts before wiping away her tears - she hadn't even noticed them falling - and turning to greet her hero. "Well. The sleeper finally awakes."
Percy started, and smiled uncertainly. He began to ask questions, so many questions, and slowly Calypso felt her worries begin to wash away. Hermes could be wrong; after all…perhaps Percy could stay. Perhaps he would choose to.
But in her heart of hearts, buried beneath her misconceptions and nightmares and heavenly dreams lay the knowledge that Percy Jackson was just like the rest and, sooner or later, he would have to leave.
The earth was warm beneath Calypso's fingertips. She scattered the dirt gently across the plants, careful to brush any specks off the petals of her moonlace. Every now and then she would glance to her left, to where Percy was sitting drinking nectar and watching her. Their eyes would meet, and she would smile, but then she would remember Hermes' words - he will hurt you most, out of them all - and she would have to look away, blinking back tears.
Those stupid, bitter, salty tears that only reminded her of him, of Percy, for he was a son of Poseidon and her tears tasted like the sea.
It certainly was a surprise when Lord Hephaestus visited Ogygia. Percy and Calypso had been talking, and she had been almost ready to tell him why she always pulled away, why she couldn't look at him without feeling the pain of Hermes' words, when a column of fire erupted in the lake.
Percy jumped up from his seat, uncapping Riptide - Calypso couldn't help but stiffen - and asking, "What is that?" Calypso turned slightly, taking in the approaching flames. She sighed. Baring her soul to Percy would have to wait until another time.
"A visitor," Calypso murmured. "Lord Hephaestus. This is a rare honour." And an unwelcome one, she thought, but she didn't say it out loud.
The god grunted. "Calypso. Beautiful as always." Calypso didn't blink; Hermes was the only god who could make her blush. "Would you excuse us please, my dear? I need to have a word with our young Percy Jackson."
Calypso stood, smiling gently at Percy."If you need me, Percy, I'll be in the garden. Farewell." She curtseyed formally to Hephaestus and walked away, shoulders tightening with tension as she wondered just what a god would have to say to Percy Jackson.
Calypso heard footsteps behind her, but she stayed with her back turned, fingertips gently trailing along red and yellow and blue flower petals. So beautiful, she mused. So innocent.
"He has ordered you to return," she guessed, eyes fixed firmly on the ground before her.
"Well, not ordered." Percy's voice was breaking, and it sent chills through Calypso's bloodstream. "He gave me a choice."
Calypso finally turned and met those beautiful, sea green eyes, impossibly bright even in the starlight. "I promised I would not offer."
"Offer what?" His confusion was endearing. Calypso swallowed.
"For you to stay."
"Stay. Like…forever?"
Calypso closed her eyes for a brief moment, imagining the slim chance that Percy would agree to stay, to be her hero forever. "You would be immortal on this island," she said quietly. "You would never age or die. You could leave the fight to others, Percy Jackson." Calypso sighed. "You could escape your prophecy."
Percy blinked in response, his mouth falling open into a gentle 'o'. "Just like that?"
She almost-smiled. "Just like that."
"But…my friends."
Calypso could sense the time was here. The time to tell him just how terrible her curse was. She stood, swallowing, reaching out to take Percy's hand. Despite her days of caring for him, the palm was still calloused, rough from sword-fighting and quests and the burdens of prophecies. "You asked about my curse, Percy. I did not want to tell you. The truth is, the gods send me companionship from time to time." For a moment, Calypso allowed that horrible, raw anger to overtake her again. It made her skin crawl, her eyelids twitch, her brain switch into overdrive. She took a steadying breath. "Every thousand years or so," she continued, "They allow a hero to wash up on my shores, someone who needs my help." She could feel her voice cracking, the grief of her story threatening to overpower her. "I tend to him and befriend him, but it is never random. The Fates make sure that the sort of hero they send…" Here her voice did break, trembling like a china teacup set too close to the edge of a table. She looked away from Percy, unable to watch his beautiful face for a moment longer before splitting in two.
Percy squeezed her hand. "What? What have I done to make you sad?" If only you knew, Percy, Calypso thought sadly.
"They send a person who can never stay." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Who can never accept my offer of companionship for more than a little while. They send me a hero I can't help…" Calypso looked down at their linked hands. "Just the sort of person I can't help falling in love with."
Percy went quiet, his forehead scrunched with the effort of thinking. The smell juniper and cedar washed over her, bathing her in its warm familiarity. She waited.
"Me?" Finally. He understood. He looked at her with an awful bewilderment that clawed at her heart.
"If you could see your face," Calypso said, biting back a terrible fake smile that felt wrong and mismatched when she used it. "Of course, you."
"That's why you've been pulling away all this time?"
Calypso let a single tear fall, letting it slide down past her lips before she could taste its saltiness and drop onto the crumpled white fabric of her dress. "I tried very hard. But I can't help it. The Fates are cruel. They sent you to me, my brave one, knowing that you would break my heart." And I yours, she added silently.
"But…I'm just…I mean, I'm just me."
"That is enough. I told myself I would not speak of this. I would let you go without even offering. But I can't. I suppose the Fates knew that, too. You could stay with me, Percy. I'm afraid that is the only way you could help me."
Percy looked off into the distance. Already, she could feel his heart pulling further and further away from her. It should've made her angry, but instead, all she felt was an impenetrable grief, knowing that the moment of goodbye was drawing closer and closer, all too soon.
"I can't," Percy said, and Calypso looked to the ground. She'd seen it coming, she really had, but now reality had hit and it was so much worse. "I would never do anything to hurt you," Percy continued, "But my friends need me." Annabeth, Calypso thought, but once again, she felt no anger, only regret. "I know how to help them now. I have to get back."
Calypso sighed. The end was here. She could feel it in her bones.
She dug her fingers into the warm earth at her feet, feeling its softness and smoothness and sadness. Plucking a sprig of moonlace, she turned back to Percy, both of them watching the flower as its glow waned and dimmed in the rising sun. Calypso tucked the moonlace into Percy's shirt pocket, perhaps resting her hand on his chest for a moment longer than necessary. They stood together, and she craned her neck, standing on her tiptoes, to kiss his brow. His lips, she thought, they're so close. But never again. "Then come to the beach, my hero," she whispered, the faintest trembling in that last word. "And we will send you on your way."
Calypso and Percy stood together at the shore of the lake, the water washing gently up their toes. He was staring at her raft with a mixture of apprehension, regret and bewilderment. "This will take you wherever you desire. It is quite safe," she added, noting his slightly raised eyebrows. She would miss him.
Percy tried to take her hand, but she pulled it out of his grip. "Maybe I can visit you," Percy murmured, and for a single glorious moment Calypso entertained that fantasy, imagining Percy appearing on the horizon in a little sailboat, coming to greet her with a kiss as Hermes so often did. But then reality took hold once more, and she sighed.
"No man ever finds Ogygia twice, Percy." I wish, she thought. "When you leave, I will never see you again." Her heart broke completely in two at his expression, just like her voice did when she interrupted his question. "Go, please." She closed her eyes for a brief moment, cementing this memory in her mind, keeping it so she would have it forever. "The Fates are cruel, Percy," she said, opening her eyes again. "Just remember me." And a thought came to her then, so suddenly and silently she couldn't help but smile the ghost of a grin. "Plant a garden in Manhattan for me, will you?"
"I promise," Percy told her and, stepping onto the raft, began sailing away. Calypso raised her hand in farewell, but Percy didn't look back once.
The following days were lonelier than ever on Ogygia. Hermes didn't visit, which left an even bigger hole in Calypso's heart than she'd ever thought possible. It hurt, this solitude, and suddenly the raw anger was back, pulsing through her veins and working its way up and into her throat…
But then she thought of Percy, his smile, and the way his face lit up when he spoke of his home, his friends, Annabeth, and Calypso's anger disappeared as quickly as it had come.
She would be lonely indeed without Percy, Calypso realised.
And so the tears came once more, and she welcomed them, revelling in their saltiness that reminded her of him.
Perhaps a year had passed since she had had any visitors. Perhaps more. Calypso wasn't sure; she wasn't too fussed about the time. Compared to the centuries she had lived on Ogygia, the minutes and days passed by quicker than she had thought.
But she was still lonely.
And the tears still came.
A shaking of her shoulder awoke Calypso. She opened her eyes, her thoughts and dreams still full of Percy, but it was not he who stood before her, but rather an old friend. A lover.
"Hermes," she whispered, hardly hoping or daring it could be true. She'd longed for his visit, not in the way she longed for Percy, but in the way one longed for food or fresh water to survive.
Hermes' smile surprised her. She opened her mouth to ask what he was so happy about, but he hushed her with a flick of his fingers.
She waited.
"Calypso," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. She could sense his anticipation, the excitement beneath the words. "I didn't come here to visit, my love. I came here to set you free."
His words didn't compute. Free? That was impossible. "My lord…?"
"The war is over. The gods have won against Kronos. Percy Jackson fulfilled his prophecy - and we granted him a wish." At this, Hermes' smile widened even further. His teeth were dazzling, a fact Calypso couldn't help but notice. Glowing as bright as her moonlace. "Setting you free was part of the deal, Calypso. Percy set you free."
Ogygia spun out of focus. Her home - no, not anymore, not when she was free and could travel the world. Percy's face floated before her, smiling, grinning, and she began to laugh. It was a bright, bubbling laugh, leaning more towards insanity and ecstasy than just straight pleasure. Hermes joined in, his booming voice rather unmatched to the crooked twist to his smile.
And gods, to laugh felt so good.
Hermes held out his arm to her. "Come, my dear. Let me show you the world." Calypso reached out her fingers to take his hand…and pulled them back. Her throat was closing up, a vast change from her fit of giggles only moments before. It was strange, these mood swings, but then again, she still couldn't fathom the fact that she was free.
"Just…just wait," she murmured, eyes straying to her garden, her garden which she had tended for years upon years, loved, cared for. "I just…I'll never be able to return, will I?" She met Hermes' gaze, and sighed when he shook his head. "Then I just need a moment. Please? To say…to say goodbye."
Hermes stepped back from her, understanding painted across his face. Calypso turned from him and walked to her children, her flowers and weeds that she loved more than anything. "Goodbye, my dears," she whispered, stroking their velvety petals, digging her fingers into their moist soil, feeling for beetles and worms and witchetty grubs. She lifted her arms to the sky, and flocks of birds gravitated towards her, nipping their farewells into her ears, snuggling their feathered breasts into her hair, fluttering their wings in agitation and sadness and finally understanding. At her gesture, they flew away, looking back to her with regret. Calypso felt the oddest sense of déjà vu, and flashed back to the moment when Percy had left her, the regret in his eyes. Now she was in his shoes, leaving her friends forever. "Goodbye," she whispered to the sky, the trees, the lake and its sandy shores. "Goodbye," she repeated, staring at the sun, her precious moonlace, the caves where she slept. "Goodbye," she said, staring at her island of Ogygia, already feeling the hole in her heart opening and expanding, not from the loss of a hero this time, but from the loss of her home.
She turned back towards Hermes, his face illuminated in the rising sun, and smiled, walking to him with her arms outstretched. "I'm ready," she said.
"Where to?"
Calypso thought for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. "Somewhere cold. Where the wind gets to you no matter how many clothes you wear, and when your hair frosts at the ends with ice. So cold you have to keep moving to stay warm. A land of ice and snow…of frostbite and bright mornings and dark evenings and shining stars."
Hermes looked at her strangely, then smiled. "All right, then. To wintertime it is!" He took her in his arms, held her tight, and together they flew off into the sunrise.
Manhattan was exactly how Percy had described it. Calypso stared around in wonder at the buildings that touched the sky, and the frost covered footpaths that stretched out before her. She pulled her jacket closer around her, for warmth, dragging her scarf up to cover her nose and her beanie down to shield her forehead, before setting off along the streets, eyes peeled.
It had been three or so months since her freedom. Calypso travelled wherever winter took her, and now she was in the United States. It was too much of a coincidence to pass by: she had decided, on the aeroplane to New York, that she would find Percy, her hero, and tell him thank you. Or thanks. Whatever people said in the twenty-first century, anyway.
After an hour or so of walking - by the gods, it was easy to get lost here - something in her peripheral vision caught Calypso's eye. She turned, searching for that bright speck she had noticed…and her eyes landed on a small garden of moonlace, high up in an apartment block, exposed to the ice and snow on a little concrete window ledge.
Her heart stopped.
She remembered handing Percy a sprig of moonlace, so many weeks ago, more than a year, in fact, and asking him to plant a garden in Manhattan for me, will you?
It couldn't be. It couldn't be that easy…but there she was, staring at a little garden of plants from her island, from Ogygia, her home, and it seemed too good to be true.
Calypso turned on her heel and marched up to the apartment block, letting herself in through the front door and towards the staircase. She took the stairs two at a time, denim jeans rubbing against the railing as she leaped. She stopped outside a single door, painted blue, and wondered why she had paused. There was something there, she realised. Something that reminded her of home.
The moonlace.
That would mean…this was Percy's apartment. She was about to see her hero again.
Before she could chicken out, Calypso rapped her knuckles against the door and waited, holding her breath. The door opened to reveal an older woman, her dark hair streaked with grey, and her worry-lined face all too familiar…
"Mrs Jackson?" Calypso guessed. The woman at the door nodded. Calypso noted that she had been crying. "Uh, sorry. Is your son around?" Mrs Jackson stiffened, shaking her head slowly.
"Percy's gone away, I'm sorry," she said in a hollow voice, and moved to shut the door.
"Well, can you tell me where he's gone? Please?"
Something in Calypso's voice must've alerted the woman to some small thing, because she opened the door fully again and stared, brow creased in puzzlement. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name…?"
"Calypso," she said. "My name is Calypso, Mrs Jackson."
The woman froze, her eyes widening with comprehension. "Calypso…" she echoed, a dreamy look stealing over her face. "From Ogygia?"
Calypso nodded, pleased to be recognised. "Yes, Mrs Jackson. Please, where is Percy?"
Mrs Jackson closed her eyes for a moment, taking a long breath. She opened them. "I think you should come in, my dear. It's a long story…"
Calypso frowned, not moving. "Can't you just tell me?"
"You need to come inside, dear-"
"Just tell me, please, what's the harm-"
"Percy's missing, Calypso."
A heavy silence swung between them like a pendulum. "Missing?" Calypso repeated. "That's impossible…he saved the world, he can't be- he isn't-"
"Please, come in, Calypso. Come in and I'll tell you everything."
Percy's room was messy. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, photo frames crooked on the desk, bedclothes rumpled and haphazardly made. Calypso sat down on his bed, fingertips stroking his pillow. She lifted it up and pressed it to her face.
Fruit shampoo, pine needles and sand. The pillow smelled like him.
And the tears came once more; harder and faster than they'd ever come before. Calypso gave into them, letting the liquid coat her face, her shoulders wracking with sobs. It was worse, so much worse this time, because now she didn't know whether Percy was alive or dead or something else all together.
It was unfair, going through so much, and then finally able to see him again to find him gone. He was utterly and absolutely not here any more. Not anywhere.
And the tears tasted of salt, and of the sea, and she was reminded of him. Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. The lost hero. Her lost hero.
And her tears kept falling, tasting of the ocean, of seaweed and salt and sweat and of the heavy knowledge that Percy was missing, gone, lost to them all. He was gone, and Calypso wept, longing for him, longing for home and things back the way they were.
And from now until forever, for as long as she would live, the ocean would taste of grief to her, of loss and love and hopelessness and Percy, through and through and through.
Author's Note: For my darling rainbowpanda0. Best wishes, Lu. Don't die on me. (: