[a/n] hey guys! sorry for the wait on this. i've had a busy couple of months and i kinda lost inspiration for a bit. that being said, this didn't come out how i would've liked, but i wanted to post something.
Home4MentallyUnstable: thanks for reading an reviewing! yeah, bolding the words was a bit of an annoyance but i wanted the words to stand out :)
andrelyse: i'm gonna assume you meant 'is' instead of 'isn't' haha. thanks for reviewing!
Guest: hope this was worth the wait!
Ocean abyss (guest): i'm glad you liked it! here's more to read!
PLEASE READ THIS: guys i've been so busy lately but the few moments i have to write i'm stuck with writer's block. i'm ALL FOR accepting requests if there's something you guys want me to write (like a one-shot prompt, etc). i have some ideas already begun but none of them are finished yet so in the meantime PM me or leave a review if you have a request!
thanks :) hope you enjoy!
Significance
a.n. In which colors are so much more than hues of light.
RED—The Strength that Outshines the Despair
RACHEL DARE
The red paint dripped down the edge of her brush. She raised it to eyelevel, watching the drop of scarlet paint slide down the worn down bristles with a dazed sort of fascination.
It had been weeks since the final battle against the Titans had ended in a victory for Olympus, and Rachel was still adjusting to being the official bringer of bad news and unwelcomed prophecies for her demigodly friends.
Of course, she was proud of the role she now played. She was beyond grateful that everything made sense (or as much sense as the occurrences of a supposedly mythological universe could make), and that her talents could be used for something good—no matter how unhelpful those gods-awful prophecies were.
But with this new role—with this job of being the Oracle—came vivid recollections and dreams of the future and the past alike, and even though Rachel wouldn't be who she was without certain events, there were some memories she wished would fade.
The drop of red paint slipped off the brush, splattering on the edge of her newly painted canvas to create an accidental addition to her already disturbing painting.
Manhattan was a battlefield. She had arrived between the bouts of chaos that took over the city, but there was enough proof remaining to burn an image into her mind and scar her forever.
The drop of paint thinned out as it soaked into the canvas, extending as though attempting to match the rest of the painting. The discarded sword that Rachel had painted in lay beside it, dotted with specks of the red paint that slowly dried.
Weapons lay forgotten on the streets of the city, left behind in either panic or death. The handful of demigods that still roamed the streets were covered in blood-stained bandages, the ones still able to remain on their feet searching through the debris for lost belongings . . . or friends.
Her eyes scanned the painting as a whole, her brain finally registering what she had created. It wasn't rare for her mind to get caught up in flashbacks, and the images from her memories often escaped through her paintbrush and onto a canvas. It was a way for her to release all the bad feelings and memories that had piled up since she had been introduced to this world, but as her eyes met the weary, sea-green-painted gaze of her half-blood friend, she wondered why it was a release when it only made the memories so much more real.
Her friend—a son of a Greek god, a half-blood, a hero—stared at her through battle-worn and bloodshot eyes, and her words choked up in her throat. What he lacked in physical injuries he made up for in mental exhaustion, and Rachel hated to be the bearer of unhelpful news that would bring the low moral even lower.
At the edge of the canvas, the glaring eyes of a drakon's skeleton stared back at her as it crawled around a building in the background. Beneath its shadow lie the body of a true hero, one whose final words were distant and happy as she reunited with a love.
The warrior burned with rage as she stood over her fallen friend, and even from the safety of the improvised demigod HQ, Rachel could see the aura that surrounded the girl. The daughter of the war god's anger blazed so hot she glowed red as she taunted the Titan lord of time and rebelled against their impending fate.
Rachel dipped the brush into the cup of water beside the montage of memories she had painted on the canvas. The scarlet paint mixed with the water, the vibrant color becoming diluted as red tendrils of watered-down paint slowly dyed the clear liquid.
As she watched the cup of water gradually turn red, the nightmarish flashback slowly morphed into memories of a recent dream.
A discarded sword, an unwavering gaze, a wounded hero, a godly blessing, a longing to give up, a devil on their shoulders, a fire that burned within them all.
Red wasn't the sight of abandoned weapons stained with a fallen demigod's blood, but the fiery determination that burned through the campers fighting in their memory.
Red wasn't the heartbreak and sorrow that burdened the half-bloods when a hero died in the arms of a friend, but the aura of power that surrounded a warrior who refused to let a friend die in vain.
Red wasn't a sense of hopelessness when it seemed as though everything was lost, or the tiny voice that urged the heroes to open Pandora's pithos and give up hope.
Red was a sense of purpose that refused to let the demigods fall to the enemy, a willpower that blazed within them and kept them fighting to their dying breath.
Red wasn't despair. Red was strength.
a.n. not sure how i feel about this one. let me know what i should change or work on for future updates! thanks for reading (you guys are the best) and don't be afraid to leave a request (see my A/N at the top if you skipped it)!
happy late Thanksgiving to any fellow Americans out there!
-eira-
