The black dagger glints in the palm of Thalia's hand.

Its name is etched into the blade that used to be her beloved spear: Mischief.

Eris has twisted a part of her and transformed it into a killer's instrument.

That's completely fine by her.

So long as it sings in violence.

Thalia will use whatever weapon she is given so long as it speaks her language.

Mischief leaves her hand in a burst of electricity, flying towards the replica of Zoë Nightshade that was about to kill Percy Jackson.

Her vision narrows as Thalia disappears, her molecules turn into living lightning. She follows her instincts, letting them guide her actions. The world ticks on by as she travels along the electrical current, following the fluttering feather of Eris that trails behind the dagger.

She passes over Fletcher and the older Stoll running from Heracles' cataclysmic barrage. Blackstone holds at bay the mirage of Achilles with her magic. Connor Stoll puts a smoking hole through Atalanta's head, but Perseus has come to avenge his fellow myth.

They would have to wait. They could fight back. They had weapons to protect themselves.

Percy summons the water from the coffee machine to his side.

The son of Poseidon forms a shield from the liquid.

Riptide cleaves through it like a ship parting the seas.

The Celestial bronze digs into his chest.

The water turns red.

Mischief reaches Zoë's doppelgänger and the crack of thunder heralds Thalia's return.

She sinks the black blade into the automaton's neck. Thalia knocks the back of the imitations' legs out with a savage kick, something she learned from Beryl Grace, forcing it to kneel. She digs the dagger deeper.

Ink stains her fingers black.

Thalia used to dream of this.

She used to have dark thoughts of hurting the former lieutenant that served Artemis. A bitter and childish hatred from a time when Thalia was filled with naive trust for Luke Castellan. Now… she just feels hollow as the paper statue's head tears halfway through the neck. The daughter of Zeus digs her fingers into the gap and pulls. It's warm and feels just like flesh.

Zoë Nightshade's head separates from her body.

She puts to rest the mockery of someone she's come to respect.

Riptide clatters to the floor as a parchment head rolls beside it.

Percy Jackson stares at her in bewilderment, "Could you always do that?"

"Focus, Kelp Head," Thalia says to her best friend. Her eyes spark as she tilts her head towards the living legend flying above them. "You've got a lookalike."

"Bellerophon," his voice is tinged with awe.

The slayer of Belleros.

Thalia's knowledge fills in the rest. A young man riding atop of Pegasus, the first demigod to do it. One of the greatest heroes to ever live. The son of Poseidon. Champion of Athena. A hero who fell just short of perfection.

He's exactly like Thalia: never enough.

Pegasus tucks its wings and enters a dive. Bellerophon readies his gleaming spear. Death races towards them on a beautiful steed.

She crouches in front of Percy as Aegis reveals itself.

The spear grinds against her shield.

Pegasus' shadow passes over them as the pair soars back towards the high ceiling of the library.

Thalia flips the dagger in her hands, holding it by the tip.

She's going to make the hero fall from the heavens.

Just like he did in life.

All she has to do is time it.

Pegasus kicks its legs.

Bellerophon snaps his steeds' reins.

Thalia rears her arm back.

The duo dives once more and Thalia falters when she sees his face.

Bellerophon doesn't just resemble her friend.

He looks exactly like Percy.

Bellerophon leaps from Pegasus' back, a reckless and risky assault. He falls from the heavens on his own terms. Where has she seen such stubborn defiance before? Even an imitation refuses to play by anyone's rules. It's hauntingly familiar.

He acts exactly like Percy.

Thalia grits her teeth as Aegis endures the force of Bellerophon's plunge, the full weight of gravity behind the blow. The muscles in her arms scream as her legs begin to buckle. It's like stopping a meteor.

Riptide lunges past her head.

Bellerophon kicks off her shield and strikes. His spear knocks Percy's sword out of his hand. The bronze weapon lashes out again, slicing his cheek. Thalia lets Mischief slip through the gaps of her fingers and grabs its hilt, bringing it up in an arc of darkness.

The hero vaults over her attack, using his spear like a pole to launch himself back into the air.

Pegasus swoops in at the apex of Bellerophon' flight.

Master and steed are reunited as they circle above once more.

"He's good," Percy breathes heavily. Water covers his wounds, muscular tissue stretching until the flesh is pristine. "Really good."

"No," Thalia growls. "He's better."

The hero's copy was much better than the two of them.

Bellerophon fights like nobody she's ever seen. He's the unrestrained force of nature that both Percy and Thalia embody. But there's the planned risks and deliberate strikes that come from calculated strategy. He doesn't overextend and retreats at the perfect moment. There's a conniving nature to his chaos.

He thinks like Annabeth, Thalia realizes.

Bellerophon was a master tactician with a wild streak.

The hairs on the back of Thalia's neck stand on ends.

A shadow passes overhead and covers them in darkness.

Thalia tackles Percy out of the way as Bellerophon descends once more from the heavens, skewering the spot where they had been standing. Dust flies into the air as the stone cracks. The silhouette of their opponent stands tall in the smokescreen.

"Why can't you fight like that?" Thalia mutters.

"I'm scared of heights," Percy flicks the cap off his pen.

"Fair enough."

So was Thalia, but she'd knock his teeth out before telling him.

Bellerophon's spear parts the dust as it soars towards them.

Thalia raises Aegis, ready to intercept the missile.

Something skids along the floor.

Her eye catches Percy's twin, outrunning the weapon he threw.

His fingers hook around the rim of Aegis and Thalia's body is jerked violently and then… she becomes weightless.

Wings lined with text cast a shadow over her.

"Huh?"

When did the horse get so close?

Pegasus' hooves crash against her shield as she feels the tug of gravity pulling her back down to Gaea's embrace.

"Thalia!" Percy shouts. The son of Poseidon grunts as his mirror image kicks his ass. Bellerophon plays with his successor, toys with him like a cat does a mouse.

Riptide slashes like the rogue wave it's named after.

But Bellerophon advances like a hurricane across a coastline. His spear strikes in flashes, like bronze lightning. He is relentless and tireless.

Thalia twists her body around as the ground rushes closer. She pulls her arm back. Eris' black dagger is pinched between her fingers.

Too high.

Her head spins.

But she trusts the fire raging through her veins.

Mischief flies, a bolt of black electricity guiding her path.

The world slows as she follows the path of least resistance.

Bellerophon knocks Percy's sword out of his hand again. The living legend kicks his brother to the ground. The spear falls like a shooting star. The champion of Athena wishes death upon Percy Jackson.

But very few things were as fast as lightning.

Death's descent is halted as Thalia jams the black blade through the hero's bronze chest piece. The metal groans as it gives way. Mischief enters Bellerophon's back and exits out the front. Ink spills like rain onto Percy's shocked face.

Paper fingers grab Thalia by the wrist.

The world flips upside down as Bellerophon slams her into her friend.

Blood spills from her mouth as the air escapes her lungs.

Her wounds split open again.

Percy makes a pathetic wheezing noise below her as the impact knocks him out.

"Fuckin' son of a bi—"

Bellerophon steps on her throat and gleaming bronze stares her in the eyes.

Percy's face looks upon her, devoid of color. No stupid grin. No emotion. The replica of Bellerophon unsettles Thalia to her core. It's just so wrong to look at.

The spear descends once more.

Wings flutter.

The starry night sky blazes behind the paper hero.

Pegasus' severed head falls to the floor.

Thalia's devil has come to save her.

"I'm really proud of you," Eris says as she divorces Bellerophon's spear arm from his body, the weapon rolls next to his fallen steed. "You're a natural."

The hero's body goes rigid as Eris sinks her nails into his neck. She rests her head on the hero's shoulder. Her kind red eyes gaze lovingly at Thalia.

"But you didn't finish the job, Kiddo," she chastises softly. "Don't worry, I'll show you how it's done." The paper warrior shudders as Eris' hand settles onto the weapon sticking out his back. "Next time, twist the blade."

Thalia watches as Mischief turns and splits the parchment flesh of Percy's twin.

"Commit to your choices," The black dagger carves a canyon across Bellerophon's chest piece, releasing a waterfall of ink. "And follow through." The blade cuts itself free.

Splotches of darkness splatter across Thalia's cheek.

Eris offers the dagger back to her, the blade between her thumb and index finger.

"Make sure they don't get back up, Thalia," Eris knits her crimson eyes in concern. "Or they'll keep coming after you. They'll keep getting in your way."

The goddess discards Percy's lookalike as if she were littering. Ink seeps from the automaton that looks too much like the son of Poseidon. He doesn't get back up.

Thalia takes back Mischief.

She looks the goddess of discord in the eyes, "Are you really on my side?"

"Yes," Eris cups Thalia's cheek affectionately. "Whenever you need me, I'll be there."

"Why?" It comes out as a whisper.

"Because you chose me, Thalia," Eris smiles warmly. "And I will never turn my back on you, never let you go."

It feels like someone has filled Thalia's heart with knives. Each beat bleeds and hurts. Makes it so much harder to think clearly.

The devil loves her.

And it is terrifying.


Lou Ellen took in a deep breath and released her spell.

Her world drains of all color and turns grey.

"Tempus fugit."

Time flies.

One of only a handful of spells that she speaks in Latin. She preferred ancient Greek, simpler that way. But Latin was what her brother taught her in. The last bit of magic that was shown to her by Alabaster. And the most dangerous. A big brother's last gift to his little sister. Someone who now stands in his way.

Achilles is held in place. His paper body grinds to a halt. Even the greatest warrior to ever exist cannot shake off temporal magic. Time ticks on by for everyone else.

Heracles is petrified despite his gargantuan strength. His bowstring stopped midway on its journey back. The death delivering arrow will never reach its destination. Time ticks on by for everyone else.

Perseus' sword stops just short of slitting Connor's throat. The son of Hermes scrambles away from his would-be killer who is frozen in the swing. Time ticks on by for everyone else.

Lou Ellen's heart stops beating. The blood no longer flows in her veins. She can't breathe. Can't hear what her friends are saying. Can't even blink. Her limbs lock into place as she is held captive in a world that moves on without her. Time ticks on by for everyone else.

Waste not a second, Alabaster had impressed upon her. You lose as much time as they do.

Three targets locked in place for one minute.

Lou Ellen is trapped in time for three minutes.

Please, she prays. Get rid of them.

Mnemosyne regards her from behind her reception desk, the Titaness was undisturbed as the demigods made a mess of her library. She sets a white book with no title on top of the desk and begins sorting and stamping other literary works that were piled on top.

Chatterbox.

Lou Ellen wants to run over and break whatever spell holds her friend.

They weren't able to reach Bianca before the goddess of memory.

The two of them were gone for a moment.

And then only Mnemosyne returned with that white book in hand.

Ten seconds have passed.

Connor stares confused at the statue of Perseus.

Thalia Grace and Percy Jackson come rushing from the other side of the room.

Eris walks casually behind them, tilting her head slightly towards the daughter of Hecate and waving. She brings a finger to her lips and winks, as if they just shared a secret with the frozen girl.

Lee and Travis shout something at the goddess behind the desk.

Twenty seconds.

No, she wants to scream. You're ignoring the problem. Mnemosyne isn't the threat. She's not a fighter.

But Lou Ellen can't move.

Can't say anything.

Time ticks on by for everyone else.

Thirty seconds.

Percy points his sword at the Titaness.

She reads his lips.

'What did you do to Bianca?'

The goddess shakes her head, 'Bianca di Angelo does not exist.'

She stamps another book and slides it along her desk.

Forty seconds.

Connor waves his hand in front of her face.

'Are you alright?' his mouth speaks without sound. 'What's wrong?'

Please, Connor, she begs, a prisoner in her own body. Do something.

Fifty seconds have passed.

Lou Ellen focuses on the crackling flame of her torch. The sacred symbol of her mother. Her dear mother who hated her now. Who has deemed her a traitor, an unsalvageable stain on her bloodline.

It flows in drips.

The daughter of Hecate pours her magic through the torch in her suspended animation. Just like she did at Westover and her mother lashed out because of it. But there's no more trace of Hecate's magic lingering in it. The goddess' rage had used that to burn her youngest child. Used it to punish a misbehaving brat that wouldn't listen to their mother.

Even as she was trapped in time, her fingers still felt the phantom pain of fire that consumed her flesh and burned her nerves. They still shook and trembled and will continue to do so once her world begins moving again. Lou Ellen Blackstone will never have complete control and precision over her own hands anymore.

The flames form wisping words of heat in front of Connor: Kill. Paper.

Fifty-five seconds.

The son of Hermes frowns.

Fifty-six.

He looks around.

Fifty-seven.

His eyes widen and he spins on his heel, revolver drawn from its holster.

Fifty-eight.

Ink dribbles from Perseus' head.

The rest of their group whips around towards Connor.

Fifty-nine.

He takes out one of Heracles' eyes.

Sixty.

The bullet crumples in on itself as it reaches Achilles.

The sons of Zeus disperse into heaps of paper and ink.

The golden warrior begins moving.

Lou Ellen Blackstone has two minutes left in her sentence.

Time ticks on by for everyone else.

Eris swings her legs as she takes a seat on Mnemosyne's desk.

The Titaness of memory gives her a murderous look but continues her work.

The legend is upon them, swifter than an arrow riding the wind.

Achilles spear bites into the soft flesh of Lee's cheek. The son of Apollo wasn't ready, caught completely off guard. The spear digs deeper. Thalia Grace repositions herself in a burst of black and blue electricity, her shield raised to redirect the weapon's path.

The daughter of Zeus is able to stop it from piercing through Lee's skull.

But not from maiming him.

The blade carves upwards as Aegis prevents its lethal intent.

Lou Ellen watches in horrified stillness as the tip of the spear dips into the sclera of Lee's right eye. It splits the blue of his iris and divides the darkness of his pupil. The path of destruction follows through, cutting past his brow before Thalia can shove the weapon away.

The son of Apollo reels back, clutching his face.

She doesn't hear his scream, but she knows it is happening.

One minute and fifty-five seconds.

Travis and Connor fire a futile barrage of Celestial bronze at an invincible warrior.

"Rage," Eris recites, her silky-smooth voice is audible in Lou Ellen's soundless world. "Sing, goddess, Achilles' rage."

She's left her spot on Mnemosyne's desk and made her way over to the daughter of Hecate.

Her pale arm rests over Lou Ellen's frozen shoulder.

Black feathers tickle her statue-still skin.

Discord whispers in her ears.

"Black and murderous."

One minute and fifty seconds remain.

It is a tortuously long span of time as a peerless warrior decimates her friends. He is unbeatable in combat, even with superior numbers. None can match Achilles in skill, speed, or power. Even his sole weakness, the eponymous Achilles' heel was perfectly guarded by expert footwork and godlike reflexes.

Achilles was as close to perfection as possible.

The son of Peleus slams his engraved silver shield into Travis' arm, and she can tell that the bones are broken by how it falls limply to his side.

Connor loses his footing as Achilles' spear sweeps his legs out from under him.

Percy is sent flying over the hero's shoulder on a platter of silver.

"That cost the Greeks incalculable pain."

One minute and forty seconds left.

Thalia sends a blast of electricity into their golden armor, making the hero stumble.

Mnemosyne sets another book on top of her pile of completed works.

The son of Thetis punches Zeus' daughter in the gut and throws her into Apollo's son, sending both crashing to the floor.

"Pitched countless souls of heroes into Hades' dark."

One minute and thirty seconds until freedom.

Lou Ellen watches helplessly as her friends fight without her. As the greatest warrior to ever exist hurts the people she's come to care about. And she can do nothing to stop him.

Achilles runs Connor through with his spear and nails him to the floor.

He draws his sword and cuts a gash across Lee's stomach and the demigod stumbles back, holding his guts in place.

The golden warrior stains his armor red with Percy's blood in a world of white, grey, and black.

"And left their bodies to rot as feasts."

One minute and twenty seconds before she can scream.

Please, Lou Ellen begs in her silent prison of flesh. Help them. She wants to cry as time ticks on by for everyone else.

Travis struggles to pour nectar into Lee's mouth with only one working arm. Smoke flits from his skin as small flames begin to sprout. The son of Apollo smacks the canister away as he jabs fingers down his throat, forcing himself to vomit, expelling as much of the nectar as he can before it consumes him.

Thalia's dagger zaps across the room and the daughter of Zeus rematerializes behind Achilles. She's about to strike as the warrior catches her by the throat. He throws her through a nearby wall.

"For dogs and birds."

One minute and ten seconds.

Eris walks in front of her, blocking the carnage that unfolds, blood red eyes stare into an emerald green pair.

"He's going to kill them."

Please, help.

"Achilles could only be stopped by a god's intervention," her eyes speak the words that she does not say: You need my help.

Save them.

One minute.

"Are you willing to do me a favor?" Eris tilts her head.

Anything. Lou Ellen feels her magic's hold slip away as Eris smiles.

"Be a good cousin to Thalia, my darling niece."

The goddess of discord disappears from view.

Color returns to the world as Lou Ellen regains control of her body. Her legs wobble as she is overcome by the aftermath of her spell. She's seeing triple, but all she needs is to focus on the gold. Blood builds up in her mouth and drips from her nose.

"Connor!" Travis shouts as Achilles marches towards his brother, still impaled on the floor.

Thunder crashes indoors as Thalia sends another bolt at the warrior, but he's ready this time, somersaulting over the electricity and knocking her back with a vicious kick.

Percy lands a lucky cut across the soldier's neck, but Riptide just sparks against the parchment.

Achilles hurls the son of Poseidon over the desk.

He slams his shield into the side of Travis' head and the son of Hermes crumples.

Lee grips his dagger tightly, clutching at his stomach with his other arm as blood almost covers the front of his body entirely, one blue eye glaring at the greatest warrior to ever live.

He's the only person left standing between Connor and certain death.

Lou Ellen spins her trembling index and middle finger in an uneven circle around the golden warrior in the distance.

"Nihil."

Nothing.

The blood boils in her veins and seeps from her eyes and ears. The air in her lungs burns. The ground rushes up to her.

Two things occur before her descent into oblivion.

The first is the replica of Achilles fading away into shreds of paper. Leaving only his armor and weapons behind as the shreds turn to dust. Those too disappear as the simulacrum no longer exists, no longer threatens her friends.

The second is Percy opening the white book on the Titaness desk. Mnemosyne merely quirks an eyebrow before just shaking her head. She stamps another book as the son of Poseidon vanishes.

Lou Ellen's head hits the sandstone and then…

Nothing.


The past burns like pages fed to flames.

The girl with no name walks the halls of her mind as it comes undone. The lies of her life peel from her soul and scatter like moths. There is nothing real here.

She is not real.

Her stolen fingers trace the blank walls of her false existence, trying desperately to find something, anything that is hers.

But the only thing here is the ghost of Bianca di Angelo, whose memories cling to the girl with no name like sin.

Her pilfered body moves sluggishly through the pale and bare void of her soul.

A mother's smile prowls the corners of her mind. A brother's laughter encroaches upon her heart. A dead girl's happiness lingers in the grave that is her psyche. An empty, vacant sepulcher for a girl who had a name. A girl who drowned in the river of forgetfulness, doomed by a father's love.

The river Lethe was cold and unforgiving. A current that unmakes, that slashes at the immaterial connections that form a person. The moments and experiences that give a name meaning. The frigid waters filled the dead girl's lungs and washed away everything that made her who she was. It did not protect Bianca di Angelo from harm like the god of the dead had so desired. It made it so she could never be harmed again by any means. It erased her.

Someone that does not exist cannot be harmed.

Hades will never be reunited with his daughter.

Not even in death.

Someone that does not exist cannot die.

All that remains is a shell. A corpse cleansed of the memories and mannerisms of that which made her who she was. And now a stranger lives within her hollowed out skull. A lie that has been revealed and now does not know what it is. Only that it exists and the person it believed itself to be was someone else all along.

She is not real.

"Who am I?" the girl with no name asks to the void within their soul.

She grabs at a wisping thought.

There was a time where the imperfect replica broke a boy's nose. The anger had built up until she snapped. It started with name calling. It became shoving. Then hair pulling. She bottled it all up. Bit her tongue. But never let it go. She smashed the door in his face as he walked into the classroom. She stained her shoes as she stomped his face in. She didn't care about what the principal said, he got what was coming to him. A twisted vindictive satisfaction born from the worst of her nature.

It never happened.

Another false memory.

A remnant passes by and she catches it.

The wind bites her skin as she holds firmly to the groceries. Her breath fogs the air in front of her. It's almost Christmas and they don't have anything to eat. He's begged her for the newest edition of his stupid card game. And… the counterfeit sister gives in. She has it hidden below the eggs: five packages of cardboard wrapped in foil, waiting to be opened. She'll have to skip a few meals to make up for it, but at least he'll be happy.

It fades into nothingness.

An imaginary tale for an imaginary girl.

She reaches for a fading recollection.

A time where Nico and the pale imitation of Bianca di Angelo celebrated New Years together. A meager feast with what little extra money their trust fund gave them. Just before they visited the hotel. It has to be real.

It slips from her stolen fingers like smoke. Undone and unmade. Another mirage, a dreamlike serenity of something that never happened.

It is not real, and neither is she.

"Something here is mine," a tear slips from the girl with no name.

None of it is.

All of it is lies.

Just like she is.

A little lie planted inside a pillaged skull. Hades created a new Bianca di Angelo, one without the burden of her mother's death. Without the knowledge of who she was. One who is no longer real as they unravel at the seams. Oh, how easily lies fall apart once they are exposed. There is no foundation to her life of smoke and mirrors.

All that is there is a girl who does not know what she is, who she is, or what her name is.

She wanders aimlessly as more of her deceitful reality crumbles.

"Who am I?" asks the girl with no past.

There is no response from the pale listless void.

Only a path that leads to no resolution.

But the girl who is not real keeps walking.

She is searching.

Hunting for a name that belongs to her.

She follows the unraveling of her illusory life. Artificial memories drift through the air like mist. All of it is fake.

Remembrances of her happiness.

Reminiscences of her sorrow.

Recollections of her experiences.

They are all fake.

She is not real.

But the trail continues, and she follows.

"Who am I?" Pain falls drop by drop from the girl with no name, splattering against the nothingness within.

The trail brings her back to the villa.

The place where Bianca di Angelo once lived.

The shade of Maria di Angelo slips through the door, 'Don't be afraid of death, Bianca.'

The girl with no home drifts towards a house where she is not welcomed.

There are notches against the door frame. Labeled in centimeters. Two different colors for two different children. Maria di Angelo must have cherished them above all else. And now all three are gone. Never to return to this home and bring it back to life.

'Love life instead.'

The apparition vanishes from the living room.

A well of remorse forms in the pits of her stolen heart.

For the family that no longer exists.

For the girl whose life she stole.

For the emptiness within her.

She ghosts her borrowed fingers over the furniture. The wood grains of the table, the marks and blemishes made from children playing. The slight dents in the wall from a ball being tossed around. The vase that was glued together after a failed catch. The childish drawings of a young girl and her family. This place was alive. It was warm, safe, a place without the fear of monsters.

'Appreciate each day.'

But now an intruder stalks its abandoned halls.

Looking desperately for something she does not have.

All the while wearing the dead girl's face.

She wanders up the stairs, invading the sanctity of another space not meant for her. A standing mirror greets her, the stolen visage in its reflection looks back upon the thief, peeking out from a door someone forgot to close. The girl with no name continues to infringe upon the privacy of a happy family.

'Live your life to the fullest.'

There is no one to stop her invasion as she pushes open the door to a dance room. A mirror wall meant for practice, for repetition until perfection. The polished wooden floor bears the skids of dancing shoes. It is a place her body knows well.

'Only then may death take you.'

Bianca di Angelo stares back from the mirror, almost as if she still existed.

'Look at you, my beautiful little girl.' The phantom of Maria di Angelo wraps her arms around her dead daughter's shoulders. 'You're my greatest joy, you and your brother are the greatest gifts that I have ever received.'

The lingering of a mother's love flits from existence.

Only an echoing sorrow remains.

The person who uses Bianca di Angelo's body takes in their sinful prize. A vile treasure taken and used with ignorance for far too long. The continued desecration of what scarcely remains of a beloved daughter.

"Who am I?" The girl with no name beseeches the girl who does not exist.

Tears streak from Bianca di Angelo's face in the mirror, running down the pale flesh like rivers through snow. Her dark eyes filled with a confused sadness, the frustration of someone that has tried over and over to get an answer but has been denied time after time. The thief reaches out a stolen hand to the glass and holds it there, palm against palm with the ghost in the mirror.

There is only silence.

Within her hollow anguish, something bitter and vile blooms.

"Why did you have to be real?" seethes the girl with no name. A fist forms and meets its twin. "I didn't choose to replace you. I didn't toss you into the Lethe. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't kill you!"

Blood drips from Bianca di Angelo's commandeered fingers.

The glint of glass sparkles with crimson on the dance floor.

"It's not my fault!" screams the girl who hates the face that stares back. "I deserve to exist! I'm r—" A sob rips through the stolen voice of Bianca di Angelo. "I'm real." The stranger wearing the corpse snatches a shard of glass from the from the ground.

They draw a line of red on an arm that is not theirs.

"I'm real."

It stings.

That was real.

"I'm real," chants the girl with no past. "I'm real. I'm real. I'm real. "I'm real."

They carve it with each repetition of the mantra.

"I'm real."

If the pain was real, then she must be real as well.

The villa fades into a world devoid of light and detail.

There is nothing left.

No more hauntings from Bianca di Angelo.

No more false memories to unwind.

Only the emptiness that truly exists behind all the lies and deceit.

But the girl who is not real continues her fruitless search.

"I'm real," says the girl who tells herself lies.

She paints the myth in scarlet on a canvas of pale flesh.

"I'm real," cries the girl who refuses to face the truth.

She digs it deep in hopes that the lie will become reality.

"I have to be real," chokes the girl who spills blood that is not hers, wishing that it was. "I have… I have a name. I know I do. Everybody has a name…"

Everybody who has a name was given one. But not her, there was nobody to give her a name. She stole hers from a dead girl.

She creates a masterpiece in a world without color.

Blood weaves a tale of denial and desperation.

The story of a girl with no name.

"Tell me I'm real…" pleads the girl who is all alone. She falls to her knees. "Please, please, please…" She raises the wicked brush that has scarred Bianca di Angelo's body.

"Please tell me that I'm real…"

A warm hand stops the final stroke.

Warm green eyes like the Mediterranean Sea knit themselves in concern.

"You're real," Percy says in a solemn hush. "So, please, just stop hurting yourself."

The bloodstained glass falls to the ground and shatters.

Percy is the first friend she's ever had.

He has to know who she is.

"Please," begs the girl who does not know herself. Her hands wrap around his and holds it to her head, as if in prayer, "Please, Percy… who am I?"

Only the Blessed of Lethe's dews

May stoop to drink. And yet,

Were their Elysium mine to lose,

Could I, sans all repining, choose

Life's sorrows to forget?

Lethe, Walter de La Mere

"You're Bianca di Ang—"

A miserable, broken sob escapes from her.

"No," she weeps. "No, I'm not, Percy. I'm not. I never was…"

His sea green eyes are lost. He doesn't understand.

"It's all a lie. Everything about me, none of it was real…"

She loses sight of him in her tears.

"Please, you have to know who I am! Please… I looked everywhere. Nothing here was real. It all belongs to her!"

She grips his hand tight, as if he'd become a lie too, and stains it with the blood of Bianca di Angelo.

"Please…"

He doesn't say anything.

"Please help me," she craves an answer. It drives her to the edges of insanity. "You're real, Percy. You're the only thing in my head that's real, right? Please be real. Please be real. Please be—"

She feels him squeeze her hand.

"I'm real," he whispers. "And so are you."

"Tell me who I am," she begs her first friend. "Who are you looking at right now?"

She needs to be someone. Anyone.

It is an all-consuming desire.

"I'll be whoever it is."

She'll degrade herself to whatever he decides.

"Whatever you want me to be."

Because even the lowliest dregs of life have a name.

"Please… just tell me who I am."

But not her.

"I'll be useful."

She is lower than scum.

"I'll earn my name."

A thief undeserving of an identity.

"Please. Please. Ple—"

"Stop," Percy's voice quivers.

"Please, Percy," her head spins. "Not you too. Please don't disappear. Please be real. Please… I need to exist. Why… why don't I have a name?"

"Your name is Bianca."

"No!" her tears burn hot across stolen flesh. "It isn't! It's her name! I didn't mean to take her life! I didn't kill her! It's not my fault! Please, please, please…"

"Bianca—"

"Why aren't you listening…" she cries as what little left of her breaks. "Stop calling me that. I'm not her. I'm not her. I'm not her. I'm… not real, am I?" A sad chuckle mixes in with her sobs. No wonder he isn't telling her who she is. What a sick twisted joke. "Of course… I don't exist, do I? I never had a name! I stole it from her! I'm—"

"You're just Bianca," Percy joins in her prayer, his head rests against their clasped hands. "I don't know who Bianca di Angelo is and I don't care. If you say you're not her, then you aren't. You're the Bianca I met at Westover. You're the Bianca who I told about my little brother. You're the Bianca who went on this quest with me. You're the Bianca that I'm looking at right now."

His eyes are so earnest and so beautiful.

"Please, Percy," her voice trembles. "Tell me about Bianca."

"She's my friend," Percy smiles sadly. "She has a little brother who likes Mythomagic way too much. She's a natural at archery, much better than me. She thinks too harshly of herself. She… she's hurting, and I don't know why. I don't know how to help her and I want to so badly. I just know that I prefer it when she's smiling."

The girl with no name closes her eyes, just focusing on the warmth of his hand and the gentle words he soothes her fractured mind with.

"I promise," he whispers. "This is who Bianca is. You're my friend and you're real."

She engraves this moment into her barren soul and makes it the start of a new life.

"I'm glad I met you, Bianca."

The spell breaks.

She hears shouting, screaming, and desperate pleas from achingly familiar voices.

But she is calm amidst the chaos.

Bianca opens her eyes and gives a small smile to the person who becomes her first friend again.

The girl who found her name leaves behind Bianca di Angelo. She leaves behind the lingering memories of a girl that was dearly beloved by life and death. She leaves behind the false memories that made up her stolen existence. In this third and final life… Bianca will solve the mystery of who she is.

"I'm glad I met you, Percy."