Hi people of FanFiction. I apologise profusely for my long absence. I was banned from all websites that allow me to make contact with strangers due to... certain incidents at home. Now I'm back. And ready to rock n roll.

Hope you enjoy this, guys. First serious writing task I've had in a while.

Just to refresh your memories:

The wind seemed to die down then, and Annabeth smiled. But there was no humour in it. It was cold and full of grim purpose.

Annabeth opened her mouth to utter her last sentence, and then a miracle that had only ever been a far away dream occurred.

August, 2009

When Percy's head broke the surface for the second time in his life, he gasped and floundered for a minute, still not accustomed to the dry, sandpaper air. He was clutching the locket so hard that its dull metal edges cut into his palm.

He stood shakily and waded to shore, wincing at the grains of sand that grated against his delicate soles.

"Annabeth!" he yelled against the wind. He waited for an answer. "Annabeth! Are you here? Please answer me!"

He didn't realise that he was crying for a few minutes because of the stinging, cold gusts, and raindrops like flying missiles against his wind- bitten cheeks.

"Annabeth!" he screamed, sobbing. Please don't let me be too late. Please.

And then he saw her and relief bubbled up inside him. But it was premature, because then he realised that she was standing on the further most rocks. At her feet was a drop off of at least ten metres straight into the hungry maw of the ocean.

Her eyes were closed. The howling wind swallowed Percy's words. She couldn't hear him. It was no use crying. No use screaming, or sobbing or denying it.

She had already jumped.

Annabeth clenched her fists, panting from her outburst. She stared out at sea, and took a small step forward. Her long hair whipped against her frozen cheeks. She didn't feel the pain. Her heart was pounding. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She was going to finally do it. Would her father care? Would he cry at her funeral? Or would he simply just accept it and move on without shedding a single tear?

The thought wrought inside Annabeth a hot fury at her father. She took another step, a larger one. Her toes were gripping the sharp edge of the jagged, slimy rock. She raised her hands. Ready to jump. Her body tensed. She bit down hard on her lip. She tasted the metallic, slightly sweet taste of her own blood.

And then—

In the midst of the swirling waters, the howling winds, she saw the splash. A sleek, shining creature arced out of the water into the roaring storm. It dove back under the waves, out of sight for a few seconds, and then once again, its aquiline silhouette leaped high.

Annabeth glimpsed a brief flash of her past. A dolphin calf. A warm, summery day. A black haired boy darting playfully beneath the waves.

She ripped herself out of the memory, because thinking of Percy's desertion of her was too painful. Perhaps he sent this dolphin to make amends for leaving her.

But it was too late.

She had already made up her mind.

Too late.

She took one last step.

If he was really there, he would save her.

She let her weight fall on thin air.

The wind slapped her harshly in the face.

Her hair became a golden vertical pillar.

She was too cold to scream.

And then her body slammed into the writhing ocean.

She registered pain— pain everywhere; it was in her limbs and her joints and her skin and in the very marrow of her bones— and then the waves engulfed her.

She fought for breath.

But the adrenaline left her body.

And blackness took over her vision.

Too late.

Too late.

A silent shriek of despair tore through Percy's body.

Too late. It was too late.

He promised her he would always protect her.

And he had failed.

"No!" he cried brokenly, running towards the group of waves he had seen swallow her small body, a separate part of his brain delighting in the freedom of the air, the lack of restriction on his limbs.

This is what it's like to be human.

He wouldn't let her go without a fight.

He dove into the waves, a small part of his brain relishing in the comforting feel of the warm, smooth water sliding over his skin; his home.

Percy whipped his head from side to side frantically. In his panic, he dropped the necklace he'd been clutching so tight that he had forgotten he was holding it.

He swore and dove as fast and deep as he could. But it was too late. The locket fell to the inky depths untouched by the moon's weak light, and was swept away in the sharp current, product of the storm. It winked one last time in an errant flash of light, and was gone.

Like the remnants of their pathetic, almost comical relationship.

But saving the necklace wouldn't save Annabeth.

Clear your head, you seaweed brain. Swim down. Of course she'll sink to the bottom.

He shot forward with a speed he could only ever hope to match in another rush of adrenaline.

His glinting, determined green eyes scoured the ocean floor, murky from the swirling, ravenous waters.

His eyes might have skipped over the still form lying in the sand if it weren't for the dolphin hovering around it— only, as Percy approached it in curiosity, he realised that it wasn't just a still form lying in the sand.

The dolphin was Amoris— the young calf with whom Annabeth had played with so long ago, and formed a relationship with.

It couldn't be coincidence.

Percy dared to look down.

It was Annabeth.

October, 2002

"Annabeth, get your head out of the clouds," Frederick Chase snapped impatiently. "Dolphins and humans don't become friends. I'm sorry to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure that this mysterious friend of yours might be a figment of your imagination." Frederick knelt down so that his eyes were level with his seven year old daughter's, and smoothed her curly blond hair down. It hurt him deeply how much she resembled her dear mother, even at such a young age...

He swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat, and said harshly to his daughter, "If you don't quit yabbering about your imaginary black haired friend and his pet dolphin, Annabeth, people at school will begin to tease you."

Annabeth jerked away from her father's gentle hand on her hair, despite how her heart cried out. "Don't you see, dad?" she cried. "They already do! I just want—" she hiccupped, and a torrent of tears washed the sand off her cheeks. "All I want is a friend... and Amoris is real! I know she is! I touched her..."

Frederick frowned. "Amoris?"

"The dolphin!" Annabeth exclaimed. "That's her name! Daddy," she pleaded, and Frederick had to look away from that grey eyed, curly haired girl who was the mirror image of her mother. A scalding hot poker seared his heart. "Daddy," Annabeth whispered, her tone choked with grief. Grief for so many things, memories, people, times.

Frederick refused to look at the girl.

"Daddy, why don't you believe me?" Annabeth whispered.

Frederick stood up abruptly. "Go to your room, Annabeth," he growled, his voice gruff with emotion. "I don't want to hear any more about your imaginary friends, and I want you to stay away from the beach, at least for a little while. You need to gain perspective again." Frederick, without looking back at his daughter who needed him more than she let on, strode away, too busy holding back his own grief to pay attention to Annabeth's.

October, 2002

Don't care what dad says, Annabeth thought angrily. She grabbed her pillow off her bed and yanked the pillow out of the case, leaving a perfect sack. I know that I'm not crazy.

The seven year old then stomped to her chest of drawers and took a pair of underwear, her favourite T- shirt, her favourite cut-off jeans, then stormed back over to her bed and deposited the clothes into the pillow case. She then put her blanket and teddy bear into it and opened the window. It was a calm night. The stars winked Morse Code at her from the heavens. The moon lit a path right down to the shore, as if sending her a message to say that this was the right path.

I'm really doing it, she thought to herself. I'm running away.

She peeked out the open window, and inhaled the cool, crisp night air in through her nostrils. Exhaled slowly. She wasn't afraid of heights. It was only two stories. She wished that it was as easy as it was in the movies when a kid is sneaking away— of course there was always a tree outside the window in the movies.

But this was reality. Annabeth had no tree outside her window on the second story floor. However, she could always climb down the trellis. She'd read that somewhere in a book. Books were much better than movies; books were reality. Movies were just distortions of reality. That was why books had been her constant companion, besides the sea, in the staggeringly painful saga of her life.

Annabeth took a deep breath. She dropped her pillow case sack out her window, her left foot following suite. She searched blindly for the first notch of the trellis.

And encountered a problem.

The trellis only started halfway up the second story, much too far away for her short legs to reach.

But she was copiously too far into the plan to give up now.

Too stubborn for your own good, her father yelled at her from the well of memories she refused to open when she was hanging two stories above ground in only her nightie and fuzzy socks.

She let her left foot rest on the window sill, and brought her right foot up as well. On the windowsill, she turned to face her room for maybe the last time.

The little girl looked around the room that had been hers since early infancy. She took a few seconds to regale herself with some of her happier memories of her life in this house.

In the paint store, five year old Annabeth bounced excitedly. She loved having new experiences, and she'd never painted her room before.

"Anna," a younger, happier, less grieved Frederick laughed. "We're just picking a colour for your room. Calm down."

"But, daddy, it's so exciting!" Annabeth grinned. "Can I pick my favourite colour? Pretty please?"

Frederick chuckled, and reached down to tousle his daughter's messy blond curls that were falling out of their pig tails.

Her tanned cheeks were flushed with excitement.

"Go on, Little Owl," Frederick allowed, using her childhood nickname that was given to her thanks to her large, unnerving grey eyes; his allowance meant nothing to the little girl, because she was already rushing towards the vibrant colour section.

Annabeth stood before the large selection of all colours ranging from the palest whites to the darkest blacks. She frowned, deep in concentration.

Blue.

Grey.

Green.

Red.

Yellow.

Purple.

So many colours. How could she choose? The little girl skimmed the choices, unable to decide; and then a fantastic idea occurred to her.

Once again, Frederick asked his daughter if she was sure she wanted this. Annabeth nodded vigorously. With the determination and concentration only a five year old could display while doing the most menial of tasks, Annabeth opened all the paints and stirred first the white with a long, skinny plank of wood.

Father and daughter came together in a rare moment of reconciliation as they laid sheets on the floor and taped the skirting boards and architraves. They moved the furniture into the centre of the room, freeing the walls.

The first coat of paint was white, on top of the old, peeling tainted cream colour. This freshened up the look of the room already.

They waited two hours. Went to the beach. Had lunch. Played a game of one on one soccer.

Came back when the white layer was dry.

Stirred the paints.

They painted the wall opposite the window, the wall with the window, and the wall in between a pretty, feminine, light grey. It was Annabeth's favourite colour.

After the first layer of grey had been applied, Annabeth and her father each grabbed a paint brush, looked at each other smiling, and flicked the brushes so that the paint flew off the bristles in arcs, and splattered on the wall.

It was beautiful.

This happened with every colour multiple times.

The end result was exactly how Annabeth had wanted it. All colours of the rainbow decorated the wall where her bed sat.

But the thing that made Annabeth the happiest was the time her father had put into her. The endless giggles and smiles and loving glances they had shared made Annabeth glow so much that she almost matched the sun.

It was one of her fondest memories.

Annabeth blinked hard against the tears that welled up in her eyes.

She couldn't bear to glance over at her mirror, which was decorated with pictures of all the people she loved.

She simply closed her eyes and dropped her feet out the window, hanging on to the window sill. She bit her lip and let go of the sill.

Her intention had been to grab the trellis as she fell, but it all happened too quickly. She squealed in terror as she saw the ground rise up and meet her fall. She lay on the ground, breathless, her heart racing.

Her wrist was sore where she had fallen on it, her hair, she was sure, was a mess, and her knees were probably scraped up, unprotected by the flimsy night gown she wore.

She rose to her feet slowly, and limped over to her pillow case sack that held the few possessions that she had decided to take with her.

She threw the sack over her shoulder, and limped towards the sandy path that led down to the shore straight from her house. She had only one destination in mind.

August, 2009

Pain. All Annabeth was aware of was pain. Her chest constricted in pain, and she found she was unable to draw breath. Her head ached immensely; yet she felt as if she were floating. There was a roaring in her ears, the roaring of blood. Water covered her skin. Her hair lifted. I must be more out of it than I thought, she thought vaguely.

Then strong arms encircled her, and suddenly she could breathe again.

She gasped, and coughed, and choked all at once. She realised that the roaring in her ears, it wasn't blood; it was the ocean. And she really was wet; the water smelt of salt and seaweed, and water droplets decorated her arms. Her hair was sticky and matted, strands glued to her forehead, and cheeks.

What happened? Where am I? Did I drown?

"Annabeth," a boy said. "Open your eyes. Please."

Annabeth tensed. And she knew that if she was hearing this voice, she must be dead. That voice had haunted her dreams for eight years. It was deeper, rougher, older. But she would never forget that voice. Since the day she had met him it hadn't just been with her, it had haunted her.

"Annabeth. Please. Please." His voice broke on the second please.

She must be in heaven. Her own personal heaven.

As Annabeth became more aware of herself, she understood that Percy held her in his lap. Suddenly she was scared to open her eyes. What if he had changed drastically? If he was only just another boy, and he intended to break her heart and leave her, her only friend?

Or maybe she really wasn't dead.

"I know you're there," he whispered. A soft finger tip ran the length of her face, from her temple to her jaw. Goosebumps broke on her arms.

Yet she still didn't open her eyes.

What if he was a different boy? What if he didn't have green eyes? She wasn't sure she could bear it if he didn't have the green eyes she'd longed for her whole life.

His voice seemed to fade from the loud imploration it had been before. Now it was just a murmur. A desperate plea. For her.

If only she could locate her eyelids.

The gentle— so gentle it made her want to cry— fingertip made its way from her jaw, back up to her temple. It traced down her nose and rested on her lips. And suddenly tears were seeping out from beneath her closed lids. They trickled down her temples to pool in her ears.

"Shh," Percy murmured, and the fingertip touched her right eyelid ever so slightly. At least she was now aware of her eyes. A hand cupped her face.

She couldn't stand it any longer.

She had to see his face.

She had to know.

She opened her eyes.

October, 2003

The ocean at night was beautiful. Eight year old Annabeth marvelled at its magnificence. At its majesty.

She slumped on the pristine sand, and used her sack as a pillow.

Staring up at the midnight blue sky, she tried to spot constellations. It was no use— why kid herself? She had no interest in astronomy.

She turned to face the ocean. Was her mysterious black haired friend out there? What about the dolphin calf she'd bonded with? Amoris.

Annabeth waited, hopeful, but it was obvious that no one was there. Any sane person— or mammal— would be asleep, curled up in their bed at this ungodly hour of the night. Or was it morning? Annabeth mentally smacked herself for forgetting her wristwatch.

But she couldn't go back. Wouldn't. Probably ought to. Wouldn't.

Dad would worry. She already gave him a heart attack daily, the way she wasn't afraid of the mighty ocean. Would her sudden disappearance kill him?

I don't care. To ease her fears about her father's health, she mulled over all the times he'd ever forgotten about her, or left her behind or ignored her because he was too busy tending to his new wife.

Annabeth's rage was purposely rekindled. She stood up and glared once more in the direction of her childhood house. Then she bent down and scooped up her meagre bag of possessions.

She made her way further up the shore, her small body swallowed up by the shadows of the night.

October, 2003

From the second story window of his bedroom, Frederick Chase watched his eldest child— but still so young— as she made her way down the pathway towards the beach with her pillowcase over her shoulder. How he wished Annabeth would stay away from the beach. Her mother had hated it, and had vowed to keep Annabeth away from that place.

But then she had left them. She didn't really care whether Annabeth played in the surf, or made sand castles; she had been afraid for herself.

Frederick had been woken up by Annabeth's shrill scream of terror. He had watched her silently as she had dropped to the ground, presumably from her bedroom window, and limped away from the house in the wee hours of the morning.

He wasn't worried. Annabeth was always at the beach. She practically lived on that sandy shoreline; there was always sand in the pockets of her clothes, and salt water stains on her schoolbooks. He wouldn't be surprised if she began eating seaweed and raw oysters instead of coming home for dinner.

He assumed she was sneaking out to see her imaginary friend Amotaris, or whatever it was. Annabeth had always had a vivid imagination. In return, Frederick had learned to ignore her allusions, her imaginary friends, and her fantasy realm where dolphins could talk and her mother cared about her.

He guessed that she only relied so much on her make believe friends because she was, in truth, lonely. She never brought friends home, and sometimes he observed her— okay, spied on her— when she was at school; she always sat alone. She was the same kid he had been as a child, and he resented that because, the truth of the matter was, he had hated himself.

She always looked so small and sad in the ruckus of the schoolyard; while the other kids ran around and yelled and laughed, Annabeth was curled up under the same tree every day, her lunch untouched, lost in a book.

He could almost see a pale, skinny little boy with wire framed glasses and knuckle bruises across his cheek bones in her place, a giant history textbook splayed across his knobbly knees instead of a dog eared, tattered novel from someone's garage sale.

Frederick longed to go to his first born and pull her into a tight embrace. He ached to tell her that he did love her, just sometimes he was so busy with— with his new family. He realised then and there that subconsciously, he had made that distinction between Annabeth and Susan, Matthew and Bobby.

Susan muttered in her sleep, and he heard the duvet shift against the sheets as she rolled over. He glanced over his shoulder, and his heart back flipped when he saw her arm stretched out to his side of the bed, like she was subconsciously searching for him, even in sleep.

He loved her. He truly did. Maybe it wasn't the same thing he'd had with Annabeth's mother, but he was happy with Susan and Bobby and Matthew. He was.

Frederick looked back to his daughter's retreating back. And did a double take. He could have sworn for a second that that small, dark figure in the distance was her figure. Same curly golden hair and wide shoulders, that long, graceful neck.

He stood, speechless, by his window, lost in painful memories of that night so long ago. Of that woman who had ripped his heart out and stomped on it in her heeled boots.

He wanted to run after her daughter. He really did.

But the memories were too painful.

August, 2009

She opened her eyes.

The first thing that assaulted her was a pair of green eyes. Ocean green.

Annabeth burst into tears, and turned her face into the warm, soft hand that still cupped her face.

"Hey, hey," that voice— that crazy familiar voice— soothed.

Annabeth looked up into those green eyes and lifted her hand to touch his cheek, her grey eyes wide with wonder.

Her hand travelled up his face into his hair. His black hair. It was soft and silky, nice to touch.

This was the boy. This was Percy. He was the boy who had saved her life, saved her in so many ways, but he was more than that.

He was her friend.

They had years of catching up to do, technically, but Annabeth felt that they didn't, really. She'd spoken to him everyday for as long as she could remember.

He knew her probably better than she knew herself… but her stomach dropped when she realised that she was lying in the lap of someone that she barely knew herself.

Annabeth tried to sit up, but when she contracted her stomach muscles, she groaned, and went limp in Percy's arms again.

"Aah..." she moaned, wanting to say so much but her tongue deciding to become a useless, graceless lump of flesh in her mouth when she most needed it.

"Annabeth?" Percy asked, frightened. He was scared to look at her injuries. "Where does it hurt?"

Annabeth, too weak to move again, whispered, "My upper torso. I think..." she winced when Percy shuffled. He quickly stopped. "I think I might have... broken a rib."

Percy gasped, and bit his lip. He regretted not paying more attention in his Health lessons with the ocean's greatest healer, an Oceanide by the name of Tykhe.

His hands drifted down to the hem of her collectors' edition Super Mario T- shirt, tattered and stretched and stained with wear. She had planned to die tonight, and wasn't exactly dressed to meet the magical Merboy she'd had a crush on since she was four.

He looked at her for permission to inspect her injury, and she nodded, almost imperceptibly.

He lifted the shirt, careful to expose only what he needed to assess that she was not in immediate danger of dying. What he saw made him hiss in sympathy. A black bruise ornamented her right set of ribs, and even as he watched, it seemed to darken to a lovely kaleidoscope of midnight blue, magenta and emerald. He brushed his fingers gently below the bruise, and Annabeth was too shocked to flinch. Their eyes were locked, and time seemed to freeze. Then she blinked, and Percy seemed to realise that he was softly caressing the skin that propriety demanded remain hidden. He lifted his fingers— they seemed to tremble slightly— and lowered her shirt back over the bruise.

Annabeth wasn't sure whether to be more mortified about the actual injury, or the fact that a boy— Percy Jackson, the boy with the green eyes and ebony hair— was looking at her bare stomach. Touching her bare stomach.

"Why did you jump?" Percy asked quietly, trying not to jostle her too much. Her head rested in the crook of his elbow. He couldn't stop staring; it was her, his inner choir sang. It's the human girl, it's Annabeth.

Annabeth opened her eyes and stared up at him weakly. "I thought I was crazy. I thought you weren't real. Tonight..." she gulped, not ready to relive the pain of thinking he had deserted her. "Tonight was an especially bad night for me, and then you weren't talking to me... so I thought I was alone."

Percy wanted to kiss her. Her words made him want to convey to her in a way stronger than speech that she meant everything to him.

But he had to remind himself that he was a fifteen year old boy; of course he had urges. And she was younger than him, and human, and forbidden. Not to mention, It wouldn't be fair to her. They would be separated again by dawn. And she might think that he was taking advantage of her.

He resisted the urge, and simply said, "You're never alone when you're on the beach. Remember that. I'm so sorry that I couldn't be here for you tonight. I had... an event to attend down in my father's kingdom."

"Your father?"

"The god of the Sea. Poseidon." He gave a crooked smile, and her heart flipped. She stared so hard at his face, hard enough that she thought her eyeballs might just pop out of her brain and her irises burned, because who knew when she would again lay eyes on his face?

"When I was four," she began, "I saw my mother disappear into thin air. When I was six, I saw you make an air bubble with your mind. When I was eight, a dolphin sang to me. At this point, I'll believe that the ancient Greek god of the Sea is your father."

So on they talked, the conversation flowing naturally. Like water. Like the currents of the ocean.

The currents of the ocean run in my veins, he said at one point, to which she responded, the blood of an utterly mundane mortal runs in my veins, and he had laughed and reassured her that it was lucky he was part mundane mortal too.

They spoke of siblings.

Percy had an older half brother named Triton, who was full blooded Mer and the heir to the throne of the Sea. He knew all about siblings who got all of the attention and glory and love from their parents.

Percy also had a step mother— Amphitrite. Annabeth could admit that Amphitrite definitely won the Evil Step Mother contest. When Percy was born, jealous of the mortal woman who had stolen Poseidon's attentions from her, Amphitrite had attempted to sacrifice Percy to the Kraken, an ancient, supposedly hideous monster, older than Tartarus itself, that lurked in the very deepest, darkest parts of the ocean and lived off of the live sacrifices left at the threshold of the Deep to sate his ravenous hunger. Legends told that if the Kraken's hunger wasn't sated, he would bellow in such profound anger that the world would tilt on its axis and the oceans would flood the land.

They talked and talked. Years could have passed, and neither would have known because both were perfectly content to spend the rest of their days, wrapped in each others arms, together at last.

But reality smashed through their bubble of peace when Annabeth closed her eyes, exhausted after a taxing night. She was obviously tired. Percy was disappointed. His whole life, he'd waited for this moment and she wanted to sleep.

At least she's not dead, he told himself angrily, disgusted by his lack of empathy and mindless urges.

Percy held her for a little while longer, until he was sure she was asleep. When her head drooped, and she started lightly snoring, he gently moved her so that she was lying on the sandy floor of the ocean. Then he stretched out his long frame and lay down beside her.

He hoped that no body found them like this. His father would probably disown him— or, worse, kill Annabeth, simply for being human.

Percy couldn't resist pulling her to his body again. He'd loved her for so long. And now he could hold her as much as he wanted.

The next morning

"Annabeth!" Matthew Chase yelled in the direction of the stairs.

"Annie Beth!" Bobby Chase added his yell to his twin's.

Silence.

"Annabeth!" they yelled together once again.

More silence.

"Boys, boys," Susan said from her place at the stove, where she was cooking pancakes for breakfast. "Let your sister sleep in for once. You know she never takes a break."

"What's this?" Frederick asked, padding into the kitchen wearing his slippers and dressing gown, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Susan handed him his steaming coffee on cue, and he thanked her with a smile.

He sat down at the table and placed his coffee on a coaster, opening his newspaper to the front inside page.

Then he seemed to realise that there was a person absent from the room. "Where's Annabeth?" he asked, looking up.

His two sons shrugged in unison.

"Sleeping in, for once," Susan said as she loaded a plate up with pancakes and drizzled maple syrup over them. "Dig in, boys!"

The twins lunged towards the teetering stack of pancakes.

Frederick wasn't soothed. "Annabeth sleeping in?" he raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard of it." He pushed his chair out from the table. "I'm going to go check on her."

Susan wiped her hands on a tea towel and walked over to her husband. She ran her hand through his messy blond hair, streaked with grey, and chuckled softly. "Frederick, your daughter is nearing fourteen. You know teenagers; they hate over protectiveness and tend to rebel even more. If Annabeth wants to sleep in for once, we should leave her alone. She'll come down when she's ready."

Frederick frowned, but obeyed his wife. The truth was, he didn't know teenagers. He had no idea whether Annabeth was a typical teenager or not.

But he let his sons distract him with their chatter about pancakes and Lego, so much that he forgot what he was worried about in the first place.

Annabeth didn't show up for the whole day.

Only when Susan mentioned something about going to the beach for a picnic did Frederick think of Annabeth.

Where was she?

He didn't care what Susan had advised him about teenagers. Surely she hadn't slept up until noon.

He walked up the stairs and stopped in front of her door.

He stared at the familiar white door, decorated with Annabeth's name in grey block letters, and pictures of a younger Annabeth holding her brothers when they were born.

There was also a quote stuck to the door; the title indicated it to be from a series called The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare.

"We live and breathe words. It was books that kept me from taking my own life. After I thought that I could never love anyone, never be loved again, it was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone."

Will Herondale

Frederick bit his lip against the sudden desire to cry. He suddenly had a grave premonition about peeking into Annabeth's room. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Maybe she wasn't hungry. Maybe it was that time of the month.

No matter what he said to himself to justify the clenching of his gut, Frederick still wasn't sure. He knocked on the door.

No reply.

He felt like a terrible father for not checking on Annabeth all day. For all he knew, she could have been lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood while the family enjoyed pancakes and Total Drama Island.

"Annabeth?" he asked when he got no response.

Silence.

He opened the door, and his hunch was confirmed.

The room was empty, and there was a white envelope sitting on the bed, looking so innocent.

January, 2009

Dear dad, Annabeth wrote. Her hands shook as she wrote.

I'm so sorry that it had to come to this. That all I leave when I depart this world is this note. You have to know that it's not because of you, personally. It is everything. I hate my life. Everybody thinks I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not delusional. First thing you have to know is that if you are reading this note, it means that I am already gone. If you must know where I am going, I'm going to the beach like I did on that night so many years ago. But this time, I'm taking nothing with me. And this time, I will never return home.

Truth is, I met someone. His name is Percy Jackson. He is the friend that I've been seeing for the past eight years. Well, I've never seen him. But he is there. And it broke my heart every time you told me off for trying to tell you about Percy.

Dad, I'm not an idiot. I know where my place is in the world. And it's not as an outcast in your new family. I belong in the sea. I belong with Percy, because he's the only one who ever cared about me.

Give Susan, Bobby and Matthew my best wishes. The boys might not remember me after a while. One day in the far future, regale them with stories about me. About how my room came to look like a mad circus, with all those colours. And my love of the beach. One day, they might be curious about their big sister who went out and never came back.

I guess this is the last goodbye from me. I love you, dad. But maybe I was just doomed to be the outcast, the miserable one on the sidelines. I'm sorry.

Best wishes,

Annabeth

P.S. If mum ever comes back, I've left her the Yankees Cap that she gave me when she left. And a whole lot of riddles. Whoever can solve them can find where I hid all the hate notes I've written over the years.

Annabeth signed and dated the letter January, 2009, ignoring the single teardrop that fell onto the paper, leaving a water stain.

She sealed the envelope, and hid it under a stack of books in her top drawer, storing the letter for a time in the future when she felt she might need it.

August, 2009

The King of the Sea, Poseidon, rarely worried where his youngest son was concerned. Percy was, if not responsible, a sensible boy who didn't go looking for trouble. However, lately, the boy had seemed withdrawn and skittish whenever under Poseidon's powerful gaze. The god wondered what his son was hiding from him.

Poseidon understood Percy's need for discretion; after all, he had been a teenager once as well— albeit thousands of years ago but still— but running away from his own grand birthday celebration? Poseidon couldn't decide whether to be mystified, upset, angry or curious.

After a moment of contemplation, he decided that he was a bit of all of them.

But, still. He hadn't seen Percy in hours, since he had made a mad dash from his 15th birthday gala. It wasn't like Percy to be in a rush to go anywhere.

Where could the boy be?

Poseidon paced anxiously by his underwater throne, gripping his trident with both hands.

An Oceanide passed by the perturbed god, cleaning up from the long celebration.

"Xanthe," Poseidon greeted the naiad directly.

The water nymph looked up, startled to be addressed by the God himself. "My Lord?" she asked meekly, attempting to bow, despite being laden down with trays of empty goblets and food platters.

Poseidon approached the naiad. "Xanthe, would you please do a favour for me?"

"Of course, My Lord. Anything."

"My son seems to have disappeared. Will you notify my wife that I have gone to search for him?"

"Yes, at once, My Lord," Xanthe mumbled, again attempting another deep bow. She backed away, still bowing.

Poseidon set off at once, bubbles streaming from his beard and hair.

He waved his trident in front of his face, and willed Percy's whereabouts to show up.

The water image appeared. There was Percy, sitting on what appeared to be the ocean floor. Except something was wrong: Percy was obviously dry, his hair in stringy waves.

Poseidon felt the beginnings of a fiery rage well up inside him. The only serious rule in the Kingdom was: don't break the skin of the ocean.

Poseidon's rage seeped into his surroundings, and an angry little water tornado began buzzing around his head like an agitated mosquito. But then he closer inspected the scene, and realised that Percy was not alone.

If his son was finally meeting possible future partners, then it wasn't such a bad thing, Poseidon reasoned.

But then he looked closer, and realised that the girl didn't have a tail. She had legs.

Which meant she was human.

Poseidon's rage exploded out of him, and he roared in fury. The ocean responded to his sudden mood change. Currents ripped at his limbs, and mini tempests swirled from the tips of his fingers.

Percy had disobeyed him severely.

Poseidon swore that his son would know the consequences of disobeying a law made by the God of the Sea.

Don't worry, my lovelies. There will be another chapter.

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MashPotatoeSquishBanana