I wrote this a while ago and just found it on my computer.

It wasn't like Reyna to cry. It wasn't normal for her to feel an emptiness in her heart. It was like her to stand tall and proud, sealing off her emotions, locking up her heart. Recently the walls of steel broke, allowing her to feel the pain of heartbreak. She tried to move on for the sake of her people, and she managed. Somehow she managed to live with the pain. He was gone. One night he just disappeared, and that killed Reyna. That cracked her indifferent, queen-like mask, and for the first time in years she cried. She felt the salty tears slip off her cheeks, and watched them splatter on the floor. The only person she had ever grown close to, except her sister, was gone. This is why she was so closed off, because she didn't want to be helpless if something like this happened. Helpless. Broken. This is how she felt for eight months. Of course she couldn't show it in public, because Reyna was a praetor, and praetors are strong.

Funny, how the one time you break, everyone needs you to hold them together. How can you hold a legion of people together, when you're falling apart yourself? Reyna hated how she had to be brave for everyone else, but she supposed it was necessary. This was just part of the price that came with being a leader. Leaders weren't allowed to break. Even if on the inside they had died.

This was Reyna when Jason was gone. Just an empty shell of pain. Not physical pain. Emotional, mental pain. Everyone looked up to her with their tear-stained faces, and their puffy red eyes. They came to her, choking on their sobs. Reyna hated this. Because she wasn't allowed to cry. That one time was an exception. It wasn't fair. Sometimes people just have to break down and let it all out. But she wasn't allowed. She couldn't afford to look weak in front of her legion.

Then he came back. Jason was in front of her, with his golden hair and sky blue eyes. His shirt was plain, but it was purple. The color of Rome. Reyna wanted to run and hug him. To cry in joy and welcome him home properly.

But of course, as the praetor, she couldn't. She got to stand there, with her emotionless mask, and watch as everyone else did what she wanted to do. Then he comes forth from the crowd and heads toward Reyna, and she smiles, if only for a second. Then that smile slips away, because Jason is hand in hand with another girl. A pretty girl, who turns out to be a daughter of Venus. Go figure. But still she is forbidden from showing any emotion. It takes all she has to hold in those tears. A heart can only crack so many times before it breaks, and Reyna's has finally shattered. Her tears and immense pain release themselves in anger. She is harsh and demanding, but that's okay, because she is the leader, and leaders tell people what to do. Leaders lead, and if you have to be a little aggressive to get the job done, then you do it. Tears and smiles won't get you anywhere in life. At least, that's what Reyna has learned.

She is a leader. Leaders don't cry.

LINE BREAK

Who am I? A daughter of Athena. Brave, fearless. Am I really though? If I am so brave, so strong, why do I feel so weak? A half of me has broken, and what's left is slowly falling apart. They all look up to me, like I should have the answers. Like I should know what to say. If I know anything anymore, it's that that is not me. Percy was the leader. He would have known what to do. I just made up the battle plans. I was never one for encouraging speeches, but know it seems, when I am at my weakest, that everyone else needs one the most. I thought I was tough. So, why then, do I cry myself to sleep? Why then, do my siblings lay there and pretend they can't hear my heartbroken sobs? If I was who I thought I was, I would step-up and lead this camp. I would not take out my pent up emotions on everyone else. Yet this is exactly what I do. I try to be a role-model, a courageous leader with all the answers, but I'm broken.

And broken people can't heal broken people. They can't possibly understand my feelings, though they tell me they do. Lies. Broken people are good at lies. I know from experience. All these devastated campers lie, and I lie. We are similar to that extent. But I am supposed to be strong, and they are allowed to cry.

I thought I knew who I was. But now as I search for the missing Percy Jackson, I search for myself. I thought I was brave, and unbreakable. But now I realize sometimes people break, so I have another question. I will search for the answer on my journey. What does it really mean, to be strong?