I finished this a while ago and then drowned in homework and didn't get around to editing it until recently. But yeah. Here's the second bit. Annabeth's hell, which is really different from Percy's, but equally as disturbing when you actually picture yourself there.
L'enfer, C'est les Autres
Part 2/3: Annabeth
Tartarus was a dull, dreary, looming grey. Annabeth was surrounded by fog, but it didn't seem to be the usual kind. For starters, it wasn't wet. It didn't feel like anything at all, actually. But it was there, covering whatever sort of ground Annabeth was walking on. Her footsteps didn't echo back to her, so she could only guess that Tartarus was too big for that.
Shadowy figures lingered in the dark mist. It was unclear who they were, or if they were even people at all. They shifted in and out of sight, never staying for long. Occasionally she would see a face. They weren't friendly though, and whenever she caught a glimpse of what she was sure was a person, a sense of dread and loneliness washed over her.
She couldn't see Percy anymore. At some point during the fall they had let go of each other, and that was the last she'd seen of him. He had abandoned her here in Tartarus, and now she was completely alone. It was taking all of Annabeth's strength not to freak out at that fact. Her chest felt like it contained something heavy and ancient, but she continued to walk briskly through the mist.
A blurry figure seemed to be following her. It struggled along as if it were being held back by something incredibly strong. Annabeth was curious, but she couldn't get a good look at it. The figure seemed to dance just at the edge of her line of sight, taunting her with knowledge she couldn't have. It never came too close. Stopping to turn a look wasn't an option either. What if she couldn't remember which way she'd been heading in the first place? She'd be lost down here forever.
The people continued to step in and out of the shadows. They were made of haze and fuzzy lines, but some of them looked familiar. One, she fancied, looked like her stepmother. Another looked a bit like Luke. A person would step out of the greyness and walk by beside her for a while, keeping pace with her quick, steady rate. At first, she liked it when a figure walked with her. She wasn't so alone down here in Tartarus after all. There were other poor souls with her. She could even have a team to work with. But then they would leave her side and fade back into the mist. And Annabeth would keep walking, betrayed and hollow feeling.
It didn't take long to work out the pattern. Something would appear by her. Sometimes she couldn't even see it, she could just feel its warmth and life. Annabeth longed to reach out and touch, but it would always vanish before she could. And each time, her excitement at having a companion dropped more towards dread, and the low of being abandoned became worse and worse. Her dread would turn to anxiety. Her anxiety would turn to fear. Her fear would turn to bleak confirmation. Her confirmation would turn to loneliness. Her loneliness would turn to worthlessness. Her worthlessness would turn to hopelessness, would turn to uselessness, would turn to self-hatred, would turn back into dread.
The vicious cycle gained in strength every time it repeated, and soon Annabeth was sure she could see faces on all the creatures around her. They looked at her with contempt and disregard, before carrying on their way. And those were the better times. The absolute worst were when the face would show interest and friendliness, only to turn out like all the others. The spark of hope that would momentarily ignite in Annabeth would be extinguished, shriveled and dead, as she had felt when she ran away from home, when Thalia had died, and when Luke had left camp.
Annabeth had hoped for fires and physical pain, not monotonous blandness. She had expected torture. Misery. Suffering. It would have been better than this. Because this torture was far worse. It was miserable. She was suffering. It was crueler than she'd ever imagined it would dare to be. She was being manipulated, and she knew it. But at this point, she didn't really care.
No one wanted Annabeth Chase.
