SANITY; heroes of olympus

prologue

[prologue]

"Breathe."

There was a voice in the back of her mind. It was muddled, quiet from the thrumming sound of her brain against her skull. She could feel blood...was it dripping down her face? She wasn't sure. She wasn't even sure where she was. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her or whatever it was that she was leaning against. She could hardly hear whatever was going on around her. But when she opened her eyes, there was another pair...sea green...staring back at her. Where did she know them? Why...why were they so gods damned familiar?

Sea green eyes...she knew that color. She knew those eyes. She knew those rough, calloused hands that seemed to claw at her skin, begging her to stay, to just breathe.

And suddenly, she could feel it. All of it. Everything. She could feel the slight sting of the cut—that's where the blood on the side of her face was coming from—and the ache in her right shoulder where an arrow had pierced, a clean drive straight through muscle and skin and tissue. She could feel the pain that radiates from her brain all over her body, like she was on fire. She could feel the sharp, cold, bitter pain that came from her abdomen, low on her torso, yet to the side. Her left. It was on her left side.

The boy in front of her—sea green eyes—smiled shakily at her. "Hey, Glowstick."

Glowstick. She remembered that name, too. Purple. There was a purple light. Like a glow stick.

Her head lulled back, feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. She could feel the rough texture of whatever she was leaning on—wood. Bark, the base of a tree. A familiar tree. It was familiar. It all was.

Sea green eyes.

"I—" her throat hurt when she spoke, like she hadn't spoken in years. Like someone had poured acid down her throat, waiting for it to seep into her flesh and bones, forever marking her. Why? Why would someone do that to her? What had she ever done?

Nothing. She'd done nothing, well...that's what she believed anyway.

She heaved her head forward, off of whatever she leaned on—a tree, she thinks—and lifts her hands. They're covered in blood and grime, and they won't, they can't, stop shaking. The gold rings that wrap around her fingers are simple, not many designs, nothing much to them. The same, however, cannot be said for the injuries she's bound to have.

Leaning her head back, she looks at the boy—sea green eyes—as he looks at her with a sad, reluctant smile on his dust covered face. He places his hands on her neck, cupping the back of her head, holding her like she was the most fragile, most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

"You did good, Lea," he whispered. "So good. But you have to stay awake now, okay? You keep those pretty purple eyes of yours open."

But gods, for some reason she wished she could.