Hola, another chapter. I have a perfectly valid excuse for not updating that I'm sure most of you don't care about. Regardless, here's another chapter, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay awesome.
-ROC6
Annabeth shot upright, as though yanked by some invisible cord. Bile was rising in her throat. Where was Percy? She needed Percy.
Tartarus was cackling in her ear (stop laughing at her (she did not want pity (someone help her (where was Percy?)))). She could hear them running behind her. They were coming for her, the arai and the monsters and everyone they'd ever faced. They were coming for her. Where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy-
Her whole body burned like she'd just run a marathon, an ache in her muscles that wouldn't come out. (The ache in her bones was from something deeper, she knew, a brokenness that couldn't be cured.) Her whole body was dripping in pain. Each of her scars was burning, worse than when it was fresh. And her leg, di immortales, her leg, it made her want to scream-
She could hear him laughing at her her. It wasn't going away. Why wasn't it going away? Where was Percy? Where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy?
She didn't notice the tears slipping from her eyes, pooling on her cheeks, traversing the skin like mourners to a funeral, she didn't notice her rushed panicked breaths, breathing in air as though she'd never taste it again. She didn't notice that she had curled up into fetal position, pulling her legs close to her as if the physical touch could make her problems disappear. She didn't notice the worried rapping on her door, or the unearthly moans rising from somewhere deep inside of her.
They were screaming and laughing and they were coming for her and they were chasing her they were going to keep coming after her and she needed him and Percy had left her and they were coming for her they were getting closer she could hear them now and it hurt so badly and where was Percy where was Percy she needed him she needed him she needed him-
She couldn't stop the bile rising in her throat this time. She hardly noticed as the little that was in her stomach passed through her lips. She hardly noticed anything at all.
Where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy where was Percy-
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
She was suffocating under the weight of her prison. She was tired, so very tired of pretending. Pretending to be okay, pretending to care (pretending the gods still cared about her (and she them)). Pretending that today still mattered (and that tomorrow would come). Pretending she didn't want to wrench the flesh off of the next god she saw (it was all their fault (she was done being a slave (stupid and weak and useless (she was done)))). Pretending that every moment without Percy didn't make her feel as though her very heart was being wrenched from her body, leaving her a hollow husk of a ghost, so broken that it hurt to move, to think, to live without him next to her (no one understood).
She'd ripped her bandages off hours ago, useless things they were, ripped them off when they grew sticky and wet and black in the suffering of her prison. Let the world see what had happened, she bared her teeth in a feral grin (, or would have, if she had the energy), let them know what she'd become. Small raised lines scored her arms, beautiful with their even symmetry, like the drops of blood sinking from her eyes and the spiders crawling through her mind (like the gods that had forsaken her and the fragile life she lived). They rose up from her wrists like light from a lantern (and screams from the pit), the raised red ridges blanketing her arms like (all-too-familiar) sleeves.
Blood from inflicting the wounds was still caked under her nails.
She could still hear Arachne's voice crooning in her ear, still feel the silk crawling up her arms like water (like the tears that always flowed-) (getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff-)
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
She had not seen Percy for three weeks (it felt like lifetimes to her shattered husk of a mind). Of those three weeks, she could only remember glimpses (though maybe that was best). Waking up to her arms bleeding softly, like soft breaths of a young child, or the tears of a demon (her arms a sticky scarlet reminiscent of a long-lost friend). Staring blankly at a wall for a moment, only to find six hours had passed (all in the span of one agonizing beat of her heart (why did it always feel like it was missing something? (Percy))). Thinking about something mundane only to find herself trapped in a pit of red, the ever-present scent of sulfur intensifying as the screams grew louder, louder, until they became all that she was and all that she would ever be.
Any signs of health she'd regained since the pit had faded (though she found it fitting, if she was honest, for it was clear her mind never had never healed). Her skin was returning to its unhealthy pallor, a color unnatural even for a corpse. Her cheeks were gaunt and hollow, sunken into her skull. Her eyes were as empty as the void of Chaos, her face as expressionless as the stone pressing against her on all sides, ever-smaller, ever-confining. She was certain she looked like the monsters she walked amongst, the ones that taunted her in the shadows.
She had not moved from the bed.
She had not spoken in three weeks (was it really only three?). They kept trying to talk to her, to comfort her. The one with blue eyes and black hair came often at first ("Work with me, Annabeth, I can't lose you, too."), but she had not seen her since the hallucinations began. The kindly man in the wheelchair sat by her bed every day. He would say things, she could see his lips moving, but not a sound reached her, for all she could hear was the ringing in her ears and the voices from her dreams, hissing and screeching and cracking her apart, crushing her spirit like the yolk from an egg (or trying to let blood from a stone, for that was all that was left (a dense core of hardened obsidian, black beyond night and without a speck of hope)).
Sometimes, in the middle of the night (but wasn't it always night?), when she woke up with crusted cheeks and swollen eyes and collapsed in on herself, smaller, smaller, ghostly moans and terrorized screams rising from the yawning chasm inside her, where darkness reigned and nothing thought, another would comfort her (warm arms and a shoulder to cry on, but they weren't his arms, wasn't his shoulder (he promised he would never leave (so why wasn't he here?))). Violent, vibrant, violet eyes and the soft tartness of fermenting grapes. A tired gaze and a warm hand on her forehead, pulling her straw-like hair aside. A whispered hymn in an ancient tongue long forgotten (and somehow her skin didn't crawl at the sound). The feeling of warmth spreads, and the ever-present sensation of falling, of hands crawling up her back, of the breath of a monster on her spine, fades to one of floating.
A whispered warning not to tell (as if she could speak), and sleep claims her like a long forgotten friend, enveloping her in its gentle embrace. She does not think until she wakes.
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
It occurred to her that this wasn't working (but the world was a broken place where nothing ever worked, so why should this be any different?). Nothing was changing and no one was helping her and there was nothing to be done as every night her future plagued her and every day her demons breathed (their breath was warm and hot and sticky like liquid blood (it was almost comforting to her)). They appeared in the corners of her room, at the edge of her vision (and the corner of her eye). Under her bed and in her bathroom. The followed in her shadow and kissed her goodnight with a lover's touch and a promise of a tomorrow she never wanted to come (and every night she prayed to him (the ruler of the pit) that he'd come and spirit her away into the long, dark night (but only for Percy did her heart keep beating, despite being dead as the corpse she looked to be (she wished to have Percy with her, wished she could run from it all (but there's no running from one's own mind, and she thinks that fact is worst of all)))). She had tried to scare them off, brandished a post from her bed as though it could save her from the creations of her own mind, but she quickly learned that while she could not hurt them, they could hurt her. So she accepted their existence, danced with them in the night (a dance that was slow and sad and wholly her own, moving to the sluggish beat of her heart). There was nothing else for her to do.
It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Percy (five more than she could handle), collapsed on the floor of that cursed hall, so close to the cusp of death that one wrong move could send him over. (She'd carved notches on the wall (behind the headboard where they couldn't see).)
They were waiting for a change, she knew they were. Every day they came in with hopeful eyes and everyday they left, a little more like her, a little less blind (Why could they still not see? How could it ever be more clear?). They were desperate to force her back into slavedom and turmoil, to drag her back into a world she had no need for and to have her do the bidding of beings she despised (was golden blood as sticky as scarlet? she wondered). They wanted her to be who she was before, broken and fragile, blind and faithful. Did they not realize that she was stronger now? They had shot her through the heart, the mind, the soul, but she had returned, stronger than ever, freer than ever. She was free from the life of servitude that she had been born into, free from the touch of gods and left to the mercy of demons (where she belonged (she had long since become one (she could still hear the broken sobbing, she wondered where it came from (who was that girl banging on a glass prison with raw knuckles and bloodied mind? (desperate to escape (to be free (desperate to stop))) Who was that girl who looked so much like her?)))).
They did not realize that she could not be that person anymore, the one that followed and obeyed, the one that sat down when she needed to stand, the one that was silenced when she wanted to scream (but she was always screaming, and she was always silenced, that was the way it had always been). She was bent and broken, but she was no longer blind (the voices were chorusing their agreement). She was no longer a doll to be cast aside when her usefulness had run itself through, no longer a toy doomed to have her heart pierced over and over and over again, no longer a puppet, dancing on strings whenever her masters commanded (she now had her own dance, one slow and soft and panicked (her footsteps like a wolf's, her movements deadly as a panther's)). She could see what they didn't, hear what they couldn't.
It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Percy (he wouldn't leave her (never again (she needed him (where was he?)))).
She realized if they wouldn't let her leave, then she'd have to convince them she was fine (she never was (never would be (had to be (she needed Percy)))). She needed them to let her see Percy. Needed to run her fingers through his hair and bury her face in his chest. Needed to press her lips against him and tell him she loved him. Needed to promise him she'd never leave again (and neither would he).
It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Percy (she would not let it be five more).
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
There was a creaking sound reminiscent of that of the rope she grasped every day, rough and corded and digging into her bleeding hands as she struggled to hold on, as the door to her prison crept open. Like every other day since she'd last seen Percy (five weeks two days thirteen hours and forty-two minutes), there was a screeching sound, scratching her ears like the glass in her heart as steel wheels slid across the floor until the kindly, brown-eyed man sat next to her bed.
She did not care (though maybe she should have), for she was watching the shadows on the wall. They were dancing for her in the dim light of her cell, beckoning for her to join them. They were singing a haunting song she couldn't place, but it blended well with the chaos inside her as they pleaded with her to join them. They needed her to join them. She could almost envision herself joining in the swooping dance, laughing as she pulled Percy closer, closer, closer-
A single tear slipped down her cheek, tracing its way down her stiff features, not that she noticed.
"How are you today, Annabeth?" he was talking to her as he did every day, and like every day, his voice was already starting to fade into the background. (Why listen to him when her demons had such interesting things to say?)
But no. She wouldn't fade away again. She couldn't fade away again, not the wisp of a person she was, the soul somehow not crossed to the Underworld that should have entered long ago. She could not let herself be distracted by her demons any longer, no, Annabeth could not let her mind fade into the static of the voices of her nightmares, no matter how much easier it was. She needed Percy, so Annabeth had to move. To act as though she was living even though she had long since died. To seem as though she still had a spark of life inside her (she did (in her heart (it was small (and it faded every day (but still, etched onto its surface, was Percy (she needed him (PercyPercyPercyPercyPercy))))))). They must believe her if she was ever to see Percy again (she needed to, or there'd be no her for him to return to (but she'd promised him she'd never leave, same as he promised her (she was afraid if nothing changed she'd break that promise soon (her steps were growing more unstable, like the fractures in her mind (he was all she was living for))))).
So Annabeth pulled herself together, at least, as much as she could. Annabeth gathered up the pieces of herself and the little strength she had. She could not watch her demons anymore.
But the demons were beautiful, a part of her said. There was a tragic beauty in their tragic lives, the vanity of it all as they attempted to live and thrive in a world that would only shoot them down again. There was a beauty in their fall from grace and their eyes shone when they looked upon the world, bathed in their tears of their sorrows. There was a beauty in how their fall had built them into something new, colder and harsher and braver and stronger than they'd been before (she wasn't talking about her demons anymore.)
It was hard, like bearing the weight of the world, but Annabeth turned her head. She was facing him, now, as he spoke, and though he didn't say a word, she could see it in his eyes. Hope. If she wasn't so bitterly exhausted, she'd have laughed. He still thought she could be brought back. He still wished for the seven-year-old crying on Half-Blood Hill.
She wondered how long it would take him to realize that girl was never coming back.
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
It became normal for Annabeth to turn her head whenever her old mentor came in, and every day she attempted to make herself a little more responsive to his actions, until Annabeth would smile (emptily) and nod (brokenly) at his dialogue. She still found herself tuning out for hours at a time, she still saw the monsters under her bed, at the edges of her vision, but all that mattered was that they thought she was improving, because if they thought she was improving, then she would see Percy (seven weeks six days eight hours twenty minutes).
All she wanted was to see Percy again (her heart beat weakly with her love).
She still had not uttered a word (Why would she need to? She was a broken, useless toy (she had no words worth saying (IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou))). They coaxed her every day, tried to convince her to say something, but she had not a single thing worth saying to them. That was, except for a singular phrase, but she could not assert her will, lest they grow suspicious, and she lacked the energy to build up their faith again, listening to their hollow words.
She did not care for their poisoned lies, their worried gazes or their hopeful cries. She only wanted Percy, wanted to be gone from her prison, for what else was there to do? She had been free, wholly and truly free for the first time in her life, and they had taken it from her. They had taken her freedom from her, attempting to force her back into the blasted servitude of her childhood, but she was not so innocent anymore. She wasn't going to be a servant anymore. She wanted her freedom, nothing more. She wasn't going to serve anyone anymore.
The voices were chorusing in agreement, she could feel the bass of their blended voices pounding into her skull. She wasn't going to serve anyone ever again, not if she could help it. The only one she cared for was Percy. (He was all she was living for.) She wasn't going to serve the wretched gods again, no she was never going to serve the wretched gods again.
The demons, too, that hung at the edges of her vision, joined in her turmoil. One rubbed a clawed hand soothingly on her back. Another one wrapped its arm around her shoulder. A third looked at her with a worried gaze and a question in its eyes, and expression so Percy it made her heart ache. She was a girl forged from broken pieces but she would never serve again. All she wanted was Percy. She needed Percy.
The darkness was encroaching on her and the monsters were chasing her and her vision was slowly fading to red as the stench of sulfur intensified and dear gods where Percy? She needed him. He'd promised he was never leaving her ever again, so where was he? Why did it all hurt so much? It hurt so much not to be able to find him, like someone had grabbed the ashes of her heart and wrenched them from her body, holding them out of her grasp, because she needed him. Where was he?
Where was he where was he where was he?
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
Annabeth turned her head dutifully when her former mentor entered the room. Annabeth smiled and nodded, pretended as though she was healing (she would never heal (how could she (she was missing too many pieces))). Annabeth still never spoke, there was nothing for her to say. But Annabeth still looked interested, feigned attentiveness and kept her lip from curling up whenever the gods were mentioned.
And she was banging on the walls of her prison because all she wanted to was to be let out, all she wanted was to see Percy. She had not seen him in so long and she needed him to survive and it physically ached not to have him with her so why wasn't he there? Why could they not see that every day without him she fell a little more to pieces, pieces she could not afford to lose? Why weren't they helping her? Why were they condemning her to a torture so painful that it made her dreams feel like sanctuaries? Why why why?
When they spoke, Annabeth listened. Annabeth provided the proper response. Annabeth kept her from screaming and crying and punching and hurting everyone if these beings that had hurt her so deeply. Annabeth kept her under control.
(and she hated her for it.) All she wanted was freedom, was that too much to ask? But in order to receive her freedom, she had to lock herself in another prison, one that lived and walked and talked, and all she wanted was to see Percy, was that too heavy of a prize that she'd have to lose what was left of her soul to do it?
But Annabeth was patient. Annabeth waited. She needed one specific question to be asked. If she was too pushy, they'd hesitate and tell her no. If she was too hesitant, they'd figure it wasn't important and wouldn't let her see him. No, she needed to wait until the right time, and that was Annabeth's job. Annabeth would act as though she cared, Annabeth would act as though she was healing.
But Annabeth trapped her deep inside herself in a venomous pit of rage that was slowly poisoning her from the inside out, for what else was she to do with herself when Annabeth was in control? She could not express herself, could not dance with her demons and sing to the shadows on her walls. When Annabeth was in control, she could not whisper promises to the blackness of the night and kiss every one of the stars into their eternal sleep.
Today was special, though, today they asked the sacred question, the one thing she'd been waiting to hear. It was said in passing, as though a response wasn't expected (it wasn't, she still had not spoken (but what need had she for speech when she had nothing to say to them? (they did not deserve her attention (wretched, torturing monsters they were)))), but it was uttered nonetheless.
"Is there anything you want?"
And the ashes of her heart were spinning and twirling and celebrating as only a heart could, for she uttered the single phrase she'd waited so long to say, her voice croaky and dry from disuse and warbling like a child's, "I want to see Percy."
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
Of course, it couldn't be that easy. But this was her life, and nothing was ever easy (though she desperately wished it was (wished she could slip away in the darkness of the night (and hide until it all faded, all but her and Percy (it would be so easy)))). They (the fools) were very helpful, assuring her she could see Percy soon, but only if she, did this, or only if she did that, but she wanted none of it. She was chafing against the restraints enforced upon her and she could not control herself and all she wanted was her freedom. If she had to wrench them limb from limb to earn it, then so be it. She just wanted to be free with her Percy.
Bu Annabeth smiled, and Annabeth nodded, and they never guessed at the turmoil roiling inside her head, at the ugly monster waiting to pounce. Her mind was weak as it was, she did not want another master to chain her to the ground after she'd tasted what it was like to be free. But that was what Annabeth was for. Annabeth was there to make them believe, to convince them that she was getting better, that someday all the troubles would fade away (but they wouldn't (couldn't (they were too much a part of her))).
But Annabeth didn't exist. Not in the sense they thought Annabeth did. No, she had created Annabeth, modeled Annabeth after a broken toy from long ago. Annabeth was nothing but a front, a hoax, a means to an end that she hated more and more every day. She was in control, she was the one they should talk to, the one they should fear, but all they saw was Annabeth, and while that was for the best if her plans were to come true, she hated it with every fiber of her being. She was trading one master for another, and she would not stand for it.
So she was biding her time and dancing with her demons. (They still visited every day.) She would greet the pit as he grew near and talk to the shadows on the walls when no one was around. She could wait, she could be patient, for all she needed was Percy, and she could be free. Free from the prison that threatened to crush her (and the gods that sought to control her).
Only another week longer, then she could see Percy (and she would finally be free).
-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-()-
They told her it was today. That today was the day she could finally see her Percy, could finally see the boy that led her from the dark into the pits of fire. Today she could see him and promise him and tell him everything she could, everything that had happened while they had been apart. The beasts still danced in her vision, glimpses of another realm. The voices still chattered in her head (she'd discovered they were quite amiable, if she was nice). A green eyed form still hovered at the edge of her sight, always too far for her to touch, a wisp of something that had been. The gray-eyed girl still screamed in her glass prison.
But today was the day, she would see Percy. She only had to be Annabeth for a little while longer.
And they tried to warn her. The stupid, ignorant, doggedly stubborn fools tried to warn her. They tried to tell her of Percy, of the name etched into every beat of her heart, tried to convince her that he wasn't well (but she wasn't well, so what did it matter (they'd be together and they'd be free (beautiful in their joint destruction until they both faded away))). They told her not to get her hopes up (How could she not?), they told her that he was likely never going to be the same (she didn't want him to be the same (she wanted him to be him (wild and goofy and a whirlwind of destruction (always changing, always evolving (always something new (and not afraid of the darkness that had blossomed inside of her)))))).
Eventually, the fools realized she had stopped listening (because they had nothing of worth to say). (It was strange, she realized, she had not seen the violet-eyed being over the last few weeks. She wondered where he had gone.) Sighing and twisting their heads, they led her out of her prison (every fiber of her being was screaming for her to run, that this was her chance to be free and she may never get another, but she restrained herself. Not without Percy).
They led her a few doors down from her prison, and the voices chattered excitedly (Had he really been so close all this time?). Then they were talking to her again, warning her as she reached for the door, but she did not care, did not listen, for there was no need for Annabeth to put up a front any longer. No need for her to pretend that she was healing (she would never heal (some wounds never did (she couldn't pick up the shards of her mind and glue them back together (and all the king's horses and all the king's men-(she couldn't piece herself together again))))).
They were still warning her as she grasped the knob of the door in her too-thin hands, sallow and pale and weak (the word tasted bitter in her mind (she savored the bitterness, the burn of the truth (for though she was stronger than she'd been before, she was still weak (and always would be without him)))). She twisted, and the door slid open with a hiss (like a dragon's tongue flickering through its teeth).
Then the door was open and she was falling, falling, falling into the pit that yawned before her, black as the depths of her soul.
