How often does she look without seeing?

She takes in the cold mirror, the steeliness and sharpness of light bouncing off the harsh glass, vaguely acknowledging the figure in the near distance—the figure that is her. Her gaze may linger on her upturned nose, on her painted lips, her elongated lashes, or perhaps her perfectly sculpted brows. . . But she purposely skims over her eyes, the windows to her soul and little watery pools that cannot lie despite all the very best of efforts around them, fearing what she may see or unleash.

Instead, she brings a hand to her primly styled hair, toying with a stray black lock by her ear. She runs her fingers through her long sleek tresses, marveling at the softness. She doesn't wince when she catches a knot or even flinched when her head jerks sharply as her hand untangles itself. She studies her hair, her own waterfall of secrets. She's always despised the length, but he used to love running his hands through it, touching it, playing with it.

She doesn't realize this, but her hands clench into fists by her sides and her nails dig into her palms so tightly that when she glances down, blood is seeping through her fingers. She stares, transfixed and paralyzed as she watches a drop of crimson hit the dirty floor. She can almost hear it. And the drop after that. And the drop after that. And the drop after that. She doesn't stop staring, seeing, watching the droplets create their own painfully beautiful melody before her.

She wants to cry, to yell, to shout, scream, to burst apart into tiny minuscule pieces because she finally sees. She finally sees what she's been pushing away and it's almost too much for her to bare.

"Thalia?"

She slowly releases the breath she hadn't known she was holding and her fists uncurl in tandem. She quickly grasps a paper towel and daps at the blood.

"You alright? Thalia?"

"Yeah." She swallows harshly and throws the stained towel into the waste basket. She clears her throat. "Be out in a sec."

She grips the cracked sides of the porcelain sink and stares forlornly at the rusty drain. She feels as if she can relate to the drain, for her life has been a perpetual spiral downwards since she was born. Does her mother, if she even remembers, regrets having her as a daughter? Sometimes, more often then not, she feels that her presence on earth was a mistake. She doesn't belong here. She isn't human. She doesn't belong among them, near them, with them. That much is obvious. And what better a way of showing the universe's hate towards her than killing him, the third only good thing in her miserable life.

With a sudden vigorous impulse to–to–to–she roars, wretches the top of the toilet off and letting it smash by her feet. She feels impulsively better as she watches something once wholesome with a use, shatter and become nothing in the matter of one simple act and in a few seconds.

She picks up the biggest and sharpest shard she can find. Thank you, Luke, she thinks as she begins.

Percy was just starting to convince his girlfriend that her best friend was fine when they both hear a noise that sounds like porcelain breaking. Before he can say "Poseidon," Annabeth is out of her seat and bounding to the bathroom, knocking both their lattés over in the process. Percy would've normally cared if a scalding hot drink spilled all over him, but he is too busy joining Annabeth and shouting his cousin's name in panic.

Two long minutes pass them by as Percy and Annabeth wait outside that restaurant's restroom. Them both having ADHD makes the waiting torturous and the unspoken fears that bubble to the surface seems almost impossible. The dippy waitress who's only occupation in her mind is flirting with a nervous Percy, can't find the key to the bathroom and Annabeth had no hairpins on her so picking the lock isn't an option. Percy is just about to attempt opening the door with a utensil from the table. . . When the door swings open by itself.

". . .Thalia?" Annabeth says hesitantly.

Percy kicks the door open wider and what he sees makes them both gasp.

Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus and May Grace, sister of Jason Greece, lightning conjurer and previously fiancé of the now deceased Luke Castellan, had—had—

"Your hair," Annabeth says bluntly.

Thalia had cut off her long locks and now bares a sloppy, pixie cut. She smiles grimly but her eyes never leave her reflection's.

"And your hands!" Annabeth gasps.

"What happened?" Percy asks incredulously.

"I felt, I heard, and then I saw," Thalia says softly, a hint of rawness and wonder lacing her voice. "I can see now. I can see, I can feel, I can hear."

". . .What exactly?" Percy scratches his head, slowly taking in the blood, black tendrils and porcelain that litters the floor. He hopes this won't be included on the bill.

"Everything. Nothing. All the things I wasn't capable of before."

Percy follows her gaze to the mirror and what he sees shocks him; her eyes. No longer are they the seeping watery pools of dull blue. Now they're practically glowing with life, health, confidence and electricity. He has never seen his cousin more alive, happy, carefree or confidant ever before then in this moment.

"Pardon me," a female interjects, breaking the spell, and the three teens turn to the voice's owner. It was a girl. She wears a silver circular upon her brow and a bow and arrows sits upon her back.

The girl smiles at Thalia. "Greetings. Thy might recall thy's name as Zoë Nightshade.

"M'lady has watched thy's entire life. M'lady knows thy is finally ready and worthy of joining her hunt. Will you accept internal life, sworn off men and pledge your loyalty to Lady Artemis's hunters? Do you swear the sacred oath, the unbreakable vow?"

Thalia blinks, but then a slow grin comes to her face.

"Wait. Y–y–you aren't actually seriously thinking about doing this!" Annabeth sputters. "Your fiancé's shroud burning was literally an hour ago, and now you're taking on internal maidenhood and immortality? Immortality, Thalia! Immortality!"

"Say it again. Maybe China'll hear you better."

"If you agree to immortality," Annabeth scowls, "you're agreeing to watching Percy and I and everyone you've ever cared about die while you live on and on forever. Do you really want that, that someday our names will be only a mere, fleeting thought around a campfire while you're still hunting and living alone?"

Thalia's brow furrows. "I know what I'd be agreeing to; This isn't the first time Zoë's approached me with this subject. I've had some time to think this all over, and—"

"And you're just okay with it?" Percy interjects. "With giving it all up—"

"Giving what up?" Thalia asks exasperatedly. "I've already lost Luke. Jason's been missing, probably dead for years now. I have no other family or friends besides you and Annabeth. Becoming a hunter. . . Becoming a hunter might finally give me the home, the family, the love I've never really had, or felt, other than with Annabeth. . .

"I know I'll probably outlive you guys. But we're demigods. Demigods have a short life expectancy and one of you or I could easily die tomorrow. And when you guys marry—"

"When?" Annabeth exclaims.

Thalia looks guilty and shoots Percy a side glance. "Sorry."

Percy groans but can't help but smile at the love and adoration on his girlfriend's face.

"But when you guys marry and have kids, I can be cool aunt Thalia and we'll become close, and then your kids' kids', and so on. . ."

Annabeth frowns. "So you're really going to go through with this."

Electric blue searches stormy gray. "Yes."

Annabeth nods slowly and clutches her boyfriend's hand. "Alright."

"Really?!" Thalia looks shocked.

"I may not be happy with all your choices, but I do respect and understand where you're coming from."

"Thy best come with thy then," Zoë says gently, "for M'Lady is waiting elsewhere."

Annabeth and Percy swallow Thalia up in a tight embrace, knowing she'd be immortal and they properly engaged the next time they all meet.

Percy smiles into her hair. "We love you, Pinecone Face."

She looks at them. ". . . Love you too, and don't forgot to invite me to your wedding."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

A/N: It was midnight and I was flossing my teeth, watching the string thread between each tooth when a thought suddenly struck; how many times have I looked into this mirror, like I'm doing now, without really seeing myself?

I tried looking, actually seeing my reflection, and I found it very interesting how different looking and seeing really is. You can look at anything, anywhere, in any direction, with just your eyes. But seeing is something much more emotional and physical, and tiring in both ways. Your brain has to connect with your eyes and together they produce pictures, ideas, feelings, emotions, thoughts, and sometimes whole worlds of experiences all on their own.

It's pretty incredible what our body are capable of.

At first I was going to write a simple poem written in the first person about seeing verses looking with no particular character in mind. But then, somehow, I decided on Thalia Grace from Rick Riordan's best seller (and personally one of my ALL TIME FAVORITE) book series Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

I'd say Thalia Grace is a very underrated character. I've always thought Thalia as sad but strong, although I never really paid much attention to her when I first read the series; she seemed to always be there in the background but never the center of the story or Percy's focus; she was described as punk or emo, and I've never been interested in that stuff, and as a major Percabeth shipper, I always preferred Annabeth over Thalia.

But now as an older me verses a ten year old me, I've come to appreciate Thalia's character more and she honestly reminds me of, well, me, a in a sense of our personalities. We're both bossy, we both have a temper, both we're impatient, a natural born leader, we both want what we want, we're both independent, assertive, sarcastic, tough, and sometimes we speak or do before we think.

My father has even said before that he thinks I'd be a child Zeus out of any of the gods. Of course that'd never happen no matter how many birthday candles or eyelashes I blow on, but one can dream. . .

Anywho, I've never really written anything "dark" before. I don't really consider this fanfic "dark, dark," but I was hoping that I deceived the reader in thinking that Thalia had other plans in mind for the shard before realizing she uses it to cut her hair. Also, I didn't really do a great job hinting at this but I had in mind the character 'Dexter' while writing Thalia. Now I'm not saying Thalia is a sociopath serial killer, but that like Dexter, she can't feel things normally. Yet, while Dexter just can't feel, Thalia's past is at fault for her lack of emotions and eventually she breaks free from her confinements and begins to learn how to feel.

Really hope you enjoyed reading this story!

XxX Evelyn

ps. now it's 2:4am