It isn't the first time you were staring.
Handsome, funny, charming – your typical demigod son of Poseidon. All of them are like that, or used to be at least. But this one is different, and you turn to the other goddess beside you and coo, "Isn't he cute, Artie?" Because he is, gods yes he is, and you know you're gonna have a whole lot of fun with this one because isn't he going to be a total ladies' man when he gets older? He's going to be. You'll make that sure.
She ignores you, but you expected that anyway so it doesn't bother you much as it would have back in the olden days. It still surprises you sometimes; just how old and powerful you are along with the other gods.
You look back to him, and sigh. He's going to be so brilliant when he grows up. It's going to be dark– and don't you know that more than anybody? It's kind of your domain, after all–but he'll be the light. Isn't he going to be the perfect knight in shining armor? You'll make sure he gets all the right sparks.
It's kind of his father's job to gleam after all, to sparkle and glitter even when the sun has set and the moon is off with the stars and to look beautiful. He's doing that one well, but you're thinking maybe his son out-twinkles and out-glimmers him this time. Yes...he did.
Those are your last thoughts before you succumb to the memories.
"He shall have a hard life. His path is going to be dark. But he is going to be happy, in spite of all of that. He shall be alright. He shall plough on. He shall survive. You are just going to be surprised by what this boy shall do," she chuckled, and for once, you didn't feel all that out of place in the Fates' domain. You watched Clotho weave the string–it's green, like all half-bloods, gods are gold and mortals are blue–and you felt the power radiate through the room, and you distinctly remember your eyes widening because you haven't seen a cord glow that much since the days of Heracles and Perseus.
You asked your question quietly, if only because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, "Is he going to be powerful?"
Clotho twitched her lips, Atropos grinned with pearly whites, and Lachesis laughed as if they all shared a joke and you were the only one who didn't understand it; and you don't understand that either because you were the one who told the metaphorical story. You also felt slightly annoyed at that. You supposed the other three noticed–of course they did, you didn't even have to ask–and had quickly gone back to their various Fate-ly duties. Except for Clotho, who decided to talk and explain while work her grace and magic.
(It never fails to surprise you how they can easily be frail old ladies in one second and then beautiful young women in the next. You're easily allured by that, and maybe you'll even admit you're the slightest bit envious. Perhaps one day.)
"My dear, you shall find out soon. Like my sister said, you are going to just wait and then you can be surprised," she murmured, every syllable just as neat and delightful as the last. You have heard of such things as Divine Words from the older Egyptian gods, and you wonder if this is what those words sounded.
"–ourned."
You almost fall out of your throne, but you manage to catch yourself at the last minute. Your head swivels around, and you realize that Zeus is gone, and so is Poseidon, and it was Athena who was saying the words. The meeting was over, and Percy has left already. You pout the ever most slightly at that; how could you work your own magic when your toy is gone? But you stand with as much grace as you could muster–basically, every ounce you have of it–snap your fingers and vanish.
You wonder, however, as your high-heels click and clack among the marble stones, if that was what dear old Clotho meant. Surely not; you haven't even heard the boy speak yet! Though yes, of course you know that was highly ridiculous of you as the demigod practically started talking and blabbering about future threats and whatnot as soon as he walked in the room. But it wasn't your fault. Mostly. It was just the cons of being a goddess, and being a pretty powerful one. (In both being glamorous and great, of course! Why not? It's true.)
It's silent now, and you become conscious of the fact that your feet stopped doing little pit-pats and clack-clacks. You are also mindfully aware that you're eyes are twitching. You gulp, and continue with your sauntering to your garden, even against the cold wind that you instantly make disappear. You do not need that to think.
Yes, you are immortal. You have powers. You are always young. You are a goddess. You are worshipped. You are a legend. You are a myth. You are the one that make the kids point and gasp; the men stare and drool; the women envious and yearning. But you are not a Fate. You do not control the Fates. You can also very well die in their hands, even when you take in all the things previously mentioned. What if that was it? You know it's not, but just what if?
You're shivering. It is not an effect from the cold.
"Protect him."
It's echoing through your mind, until it is all you can hear in the next few seconds. Your hands are pressed to your ears, trying to make it stop. And when it does, you're sweating. You don't even bother to use your powers this time; you're breathing hard; your arm is wiping your forehead, and you realize your throat aches. Did you scream? You can't remember.
You're blinking repeatedly, and you're trying to forget. But it's still there, at the back of your brain, and it's still echoing. Quieter, though. Quieter. For once, you keep it that way.
Click-clack, you're going back. Back to the marble stones and lavish décor. You flump to your bed and try not to feel exhausted. It scares you, quite a bit, that you know exactly who the voice was talking about, and who the voice belonged to.
Your shoes are off your feet and you snuggle warmly into your comforter and hug your pillow hard. It's been a crazy day, even for you. Sighing; the hordes of sparkles surround you and now you're wearing snug warm pajamas. Considering you're not sleeping with anyone tonight, you deem that this is an appropriate choice.
You heard the click-clack of your stilettos as you shrugged them off, but that didn't drown the words from your mind and now that nothing is trying to drown them now, it's resounding even louder. The scary part, you think, is that you're not even scared of that anymore. Because there are other words haunting your mind now, and they send more shivers through your spine than you'd like.
"He shall have a hard life."
You're scared for him. It doesn't make sense, you don't understand, and you feel like the stereotypical dumb blonde. You haven't met the kid! And that fact scares you too because you already want to protect him. You know you will.
Funny thing is, now you're not scared of that. Oh, it amazes even you how fucked-up you are. Then again, hasn't love always been?
Click-clack. That's the sound of your heels walking towards the limousine, where Ares is holding the door open. You charmingly grin as you step in. Finally, you are going to meet Percy Jackson.