I'm not a great sleeper—for a half-blood. As a rule, half-bloods snooze light as a feather and awaken, bolt upright, fist in the air, cold sweat beading on their forehead, with a traumatized yell of protest.

"No!" Clovis screamed, "I don't wanna build a snowman!" or "No! Kronos is rising again and my girlfriend's his host body! Plus our local Starbucks got skewered by Polybotes!" roared Pollux, but he has tendency to be a bit wacko—er... different upstairs. Cabin Ten has a scale for nightmares, categorizing the suckiness on a scale between the hotness of Clovis to Percy Jackson/Taylor Lautner. Percy Jackson is probably the poster child for demonic prophetic demigod dreams, but still he's the highest on the scale of Best Dream Ever. (Pollux wouldn't even be included if this was a normal scale about who gets the worst dreams, because his cabin has a winery downstairs, with an insane asylum to the left, either of which must be somehow affecting his frequent naps.) When you've spent you whole life fighting (read: hiding from in the Barbie dream house) imminent pain and agonising death, you tend not to slip too deeply into the traitorous arms of Morpheus—or Hypnos. Whichever floats your boat, really.

I sleep about as lightly as a boulder. When I'm exhausted, I hit the sack and snore like nobody's business. Or a chainsaw, according to my cabin mates, who are so hypersensitive that snapping a twig two kilometers from here would send them on red alert, with their weapon of choice (read: beauty tool) wielded. I almost slept through one of the minor battles of the Titan War. But, regardless, sleeping, even for me, isn't a piece of cake when there's twentysomething pairs of glowing milky red/scarlet/fire truck red/crimson eyes baring into the depths of your soul through the velvet night.p

My eyes tryTRYtry to stay closed—they really truly do—but after the first dream I'd awaken breathless and the lot of them won't leave the bedroom again. Insatiable much, eh?

Today, I'd looked different than usual—a tad paler complexion (almost a vanilla now instead of my usual shell toner), eyes like melting lagoons of dark Swiss unbarfed chocolate (long story), most of the day, and sunstreaks all but a nostalgic memory.

Kim, at least, must know I'd never leave, especially my stuff because it is practically suicide without it. Especially scattered on the white tiled bathroom floor with a bathtub overflowing—at least not purposefully. And if I did, I hope I'd turn off the water first, to save their electric bill. So the only logical explanation—she is, in fact, the daughter of Athena—is that I'd been kidnapped. And who, but one suspect, would have an interest in kidnapping little old me? Bar Kronos, Gaea, and all the other baddies out there. I push the doubts to the rear of my mind as I blink, nerved-as-Hades that they're all gonna watch me sleep. Stalker much? I'm unsure how I'd even thought of Kim—given that I'd been pondering sleep habits, of all things, before my brain went psycho and switched gears on me. It was probably drifting towards the front and center stage of my consciousness anyway.

My inner goddess preens at the attention she's being shown, clad in red harlot lingerie and six-inch slut heels and a wanton red pout. All that jazz. My conscience glares like Katie Gardener focused on one of the Stoll brothers. About that, everyone knows Katie G. and Travis S. are a bubbling concoction made in Olympus's love kitchen's stir pot, and will be, if not giddy enough to permanently scar the immortal mind of my flighty mother, at least relieved that an exasperated bellow of "STOLL!" in the wee hours of the morn won't disturb 'em princess-type light sleepers any longer. My conscience knows all-too-well that I'd deem myself worthy of the Fields of Punishment, eternal torment, before breaking another man.

I CANNOT BE LIKE DREW.

My conscience berates me for even allowing myself to be objectified like this, much less encouraging it. Wearing this, and not even for Paul! she huffs.

My breasts glow silver in the moonlight. That's a nice view. I ponder nuzzling my face into the valley between my large C cup, D when they swell, twin boobs.

Moonlight.

I wonder if if I prayed to Artemis for help getting out of this love magic mess, would she assist a maiden in peril or a damsel in distress? Unless, with moi being her morally rivaling goddess' daughter, my prayers are automatically deflected, like a blocked number. Lady Artemis, please help! I mentally screech. They are probably going to gang rape me.

Not only am I the daughter of all she doesn't believe in, I scored an F minus in archery, I'm not-even-kinda middle school age, and my mind was polluted with boys before I could walk. All that's left is a little genderbending, suddenly I'll have male reproductive organa, and I'll be all Artemis loathes with her entire immortal being rolled into one dead jackal. Fucking band of silver glow stick celibate lesbian gypsies!

The moonlight feels harsher on my skin instantaneously. Oh Hades. Did she hear that? Yeah. So not going to be expecting any help from that department in the next bajilliion eons...or, like, ever.

Y U NO STOP STARING? I struggle to not shriek my thoughts aloud.

Crimson orbs are glued to me. A fluttery, jittery itch burns under my skin like hyperactive caffeinated killer ants. My fingernails dig into my unsuspecting palms' flesh relentlessly. I'm briefly reminded of chipping my fingernail at Emily's house—how long ago? I sub- and self-consiously don't breathe.

Inhale, my body pleads.

Come on, breathe, you lunatic, whines my brain.

Inhale! moans my lungs. My body fights commands.

IN-fuckin'-HALE! my lungs bite.

I do, finally, and like a strangled owl's dying squawk, I sob. All the vampires start in concern. I see red. "Stop!" I can't contain my pent-up burning crimson-as-their-eyes emotions anymore, erupting, as I thunderously roar, "STOP! Hades! Di Immortales! Stop, okay. Why are you all staring at me like that—unblinkingly eyeing me up like a flippin' piece of meat. Yeah, I know I have glorious heavenly blood. It's hereditary! Just go feed on some flippin' BLOODBAG, Di Immortales! Or at least get the Hades out!"

My index finger thrusts towards the door and it takes all of me to not flip them the bird. Six traumatized vampires flee, bolting out the door in a satisfying blur. The rest blink in surprise, like, well you wanted ua to blink.

What, weren't expecting my mental breakdown until after the honeymoon?

"That's hot!" I hear the reverent voice of Delilah, a young leech just out of her newborn year, so accustomed with twenty-first century slang and language.

Yeah, peeps with yer thees and thous, stop reminding me of Zoe Nightshade. At least Zoe had realized the importance of men before she died—on her last quest featuring Percy Jackson and friends. Kim realized, too. There may be some hope for these "Hunters" yet!

I glower at them, my eyes smoldering noir, black. "Out!" I hiss venomously.

Half the group dissipates. A few poor stubborn souls...er, pairs of orbs linger to face my wrath. I thought they loved me? I would grin sadistically if I am not a warpath and still seeing red.

Particularly red eyes.

Hushed frantic exchanged behind the oak door the other's disappeared behind. No doubt their cold white ears are pressed up against it now.

My eyes ache with need of sleep. Land of Nod, here I come!

My eyebrows slant angrily and my blood boils. My fists clench so tightly they tremble. "Get. Your. Vampire. Arses. Out. Of. My. Room. So. I. Can. Sleep. Or you're disqualified!" This alone sends them packing and running to the hills. My conscience beams in approval. All of them hold a torch for me in their hearts, despite the fact that fire's the only thing that'll fatally kill the sweet-smellin' bloodsuckers. "And whoever the last ones to get out of this room are, are buying me nicest breakfast they can find!" A thought occurs. "Human food!" I emphasize strongly.

I, quite literally, fall back into bed and begin to dream as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Head? Meet Pillow and your future children—Dreams and Nightmares.

Who's your favorite child?

I dream of a chasm. An unrecognizable mutter seems to echo through the chamber. The pit behind me seems to exhale a cold blast of air. That's when I knew with certainty- the chasm did go straight to the Underworld. My dream is fuzzy, like we're underground with no signal. I can barely hear anything, but I know conversations are going on.

Something- a spiderweb, dragged a blonde girl ( Annabeth?) by her ankle toward the pit. She sobs, and a black-haired boy- Percy, probably, tries to secure her with his arm, but the wiry spider silk pulls her down. They fall, Percy managing to snag the edge off the ledge with one hand. There's almost an evil magnetic pull toward it that pulls my mind to it. I resist as well as I can.

I hear a voice from in the darkness, No escape, it promises. I go to Tartarus, and you will come too.

"Let me go, " she croaks.

Percy says something to someone else, "I'll see you on the other side! Lead them there! Promise me!" My dream skips around like a static filled call with bad connection."We're staying together, " he promises Annabeth, "You not getting away from me. Never again."

I almost cry at the sheer love he has for her. I finally understand the saying, LOVE IS SACRIFICE.

He lets go, and they fall together into the unknown. Hades, I realize too late what's happening. didn't I warn him?

The scene shifts.

My dream starts off with a literal bang! My father holds a gun over my face, covering me from the monsters, but the metal bullets have no effect. It stuns them at best.

"Go! Alexandra, you have to go!"

Tears are streaming down my pretty face, and I'm screaming enough attract all the monsters in the world.

"No! You go away! All of you- leave my and my dad alone!" You can tell they want to- there isn't much a pretty face can't buy you, but they don't. The weirdest thing happens then. The place starts reeking of perfume, and I grab a butter knife and it morphs into a golden hilted dagger. I slash all of the monsters away, but one of them throws the table at my dad.

I let loose a blood-curling scream. "No! Dad!"

I stab it in between a chink in it's grimy chartreuse scales and it erupts into a pile of yellow glitter on the blue and white checkerboard kitchen floor. He grows cold in my arms, and my dream washes away with my eleven-year-old tears.

sorry all.

Total filler chapter.

Sooo happy you guys gave me seven reviews, even if it's a little measly.

I just copy and pasted the dreams with like three extra lines because i didn't have much creativity left.

Suggestions?

Comments?

Concerns?

Plot twists?

New characters?

Solutions?

When should they get together, and should there be a threat after?

Guess peeps. Love you.

"I'm not scared of love.
'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker."