Why is Everything so Loud?! (Fem. Percy)

Are you?

I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to leave the confines of the bed. But I ended up wandering through shadowed hallways anyway. The cold stones pressed against the soles of my feet. Each step I took was silent, I kept a careful eye on my surroundings, and one arm around my horse. Dad would be upset if I left it. 

That's what I told myself. It was better than admitting the possibility of something happening terrified me. A fear completely unfounded and made all the worse by my location. In the palace, nothing could get me. And I knew, I knew, if I called for Dad, he'd be here in an instant. (Was it bad I didn't want him to? That a piece of me wanted him to let me get hurt?)

He'd come in, sweep me up, and hold me close as the fuzziness settled in. Around him, my brain was wrapped in old carpet. I couldn't focus, and any actual thoughts were hard. The few I had, those slipped and vanished into the seemingly endless contentment and ease. For all it could be relaxing, I hated the way it made me feel. 

Sighing, I rubbed my eyes. If any demigod at camp saw me, they'd only have more reasons to hate me. I should've been thankful for this. Dad owed me nothing, and despite that, he was spending time with me and making sure I ate and that I was healthy. The relief, though, I couldn't help that. The weight that lifted off my shoulders whenever he wasn't hovering. Not that it changed how I wanted to press against his side and hide my face. I rapped my knuckles on my leg. Stupid. Dumb. You shouldn't act like a child. 

A wisp of his aura, the barest edges, stroked along my cheek, almost as if in response to my thoughts. I leaned into it. Dad's attention shifted to me. Something warm started to crawl into my chest--I smashed it down, sped up, and passed out of his reach. 

I hated what my first reaction was: an urge to go back and linger and enjoy it. 

Further and further I walked. The hallways became darker. No lanterns lit the halls. Two feet in front of me, water turned to ink. Crackles brushed over my skin. The warding enchantments in the palace made it a point to remind me I couldn't escape. It whispered that they'd know the moment I tried to leave. They'd tell Dad. They'd get me locked away. 

The longer I stayed, the more I came to realize  Camp and the palace had something in common. Both were cages. One was infinitely more gilded than the other, but it was a cage nonetheless.  

I stroked my thumb along the nose of the horse. This--I'd allow. No one could see me. Alone, I could comfort myself. Even if it was something meant for babies, Dad gave it to me. Mom gave me a stuffed orca on my first birthday, and I still had it. (Mom never said it was from her.) Why should this be different?  (Because I wasn't a baby anymore.)

Swallowing, I wrapped my other arm around the horse. Gifts from the gods were rare. Doubly so were the ones not entrapped in plots and plans. Dad had to have a reason for this. Something that would make him want to keep me around. 

Weapon. 

My mouth felt like I ate sand. No matter how much I came back to the thought, to the truth of the matter, it hurt. Whatever usefulness I have, that's what determines my value. If it was as a weapon, then so be it. That's what they would keep me as. 

Gods don't care about us. 

Gods only care about what we can do for them. 

Gods will kill us when we outlive that usefulness.

Those three things were drilled into my head. Maybe Luke saying those things should've changed something, but given my role in things, it only drove them home deeper. How many votes against my life had Zeus called? How often had I been threatened with death? 

The infinite darkness gave way to a body. I ran into it, mumbled an apology, and moved to the side. Translucent tentacles flowed and blocked my path. I blinked. My heart leapt into my throat.