𝟬𝟬𝟱. aera prefers blondes

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HAVING BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG, Aera used to dream about returning to Camp Half-Blood. In the best ones, she would be welcomed back by all her closest friends on a warm golden day. With the sun shining in her hair and her eyes, they would hoist her onto their shoulders and carry her up Half-Blood Hill. At the peak of the hill, where a flourish of leaves cascaded from her favorite trees, they told Aera they forgave her, they loved her, and they were always going to stand by her. Crying tears of joy, Aera laughed and hugged them, vowing to never be parted from them again.

In the worst ones, the half-bloods Aera grew up with would bear arms against her, chasing her into the forest with swords and spears. At night, they made a game out of hunting her down like a wild monster. Barefoot, Aera would run through the forest until she was covered in nicks and cuts. Near the end of the dream, her half-siblings would corner her against Zeus' fist. One by one with biting remarks, the Aphrodite Cabin took turns using Luke's dual-metal blade, Backbiter, to cut her open. Ravaged, Aera would lay there, limp, bleeding out, staring at a starless sky. Unable to die, unable to escape from the pain.

Not the most glamorous way to go, Aera had to admit. She always suspected having the demigods compete in a twisted sport of who could dice her up in the most aesthetically gruesome way was the worst that could transpire upon her return until the campers gathered around to see what all the ruckus was about on the beach.

After being hurled onto the eastern shore of Long Island Sound by a petty water nymph who still held a grudge against Aera for stealing her tree nymph girlfriend four summers ago (so not fair; it wasn't Aera's fault she just radiated charm without trying), a throng of at least twenty campers started to coalesce around their group, eager to feast their hungry eyes on whatever trouble was stirring at the lake.

As soon as she caught sight of them, Aera straightened out her back, swiftly flattening down her soaking wet clothes, adjusting her sleeves, and forking her fingers through her tangled hair. She didn't give a pegasi's peaches what these highlighter-wearing creeps thought of her, but that didn't mean she could be spotted looking like a watered-down lily. She was going to need a proper change of clothing and a clay face mask, stat.

The problem was, well, Aera was at Camp Half-Blood, the least fashionable, least beauty-innovating place in the world (after court-managed public schools named the Wilderness School, of course).

Upon drying Annabeth, Leo, and Jason, a detail of campers ran up to Aera with a giant bronze leaf blower. Ugh. The last time they used one of those cheap things on her, Aera couldn't get the tangles out of her hair for weeks. Worst. Hairdryer. Ever. Now that her hair was precariously long, Aera needed to take even more precautions to maintain it.

"Don't even think about it," she hissed.

With a slitting glare of her eyes, Aera had that gaggle of hair-sabotaging idiots scampering away. Next to her, Jason the mascara monster raised his eyebrows as Aera wrung the water out of her hair and clothes herself. She would never be caught dead admitting it, but he was looking even more charming after that little dip in the lake. Somehow the blown-back hairstyle suited him like he didn't even have to try with his appearance, which obviously, without saying, was incredibly aggravating.

"You'll catch a cold," Jason told Aera, eyeing the puddle that formed beneath her on the sand.

Suddenly, all of Aera's previous spite vanished into thin air. A smirk that emerged across her lips. He was totally checking her out. "What? Are you worried about me?"

A muscle in Jason's jaw tensed. "Aera, let's make something clear. You and I—"

"Me and you?" Aera batted her eyelashes at him. "Guess I am your type. Why wouldn't I be? I'm everybody's type." She winked at a random girl in the crowd, whose face bloomed profusely in a red blush. Still got it. Annabeth's inferior plan of marring Aera's charm was a total doozy, just like that horrendous camp outfit.

CATHARSIS, jason grace¹ [REWRITING]Where stories live. Discover now