Fall (Percy Jackson x Reader)

thirty-two

hello, everyone!

so sorry for the wait; I had to work out a LOT of logistics for the next chapter, along with simply finding the time to write (life has been very hectic recently), so it took wayyy longer than I'd originally planned for. however, I've gotten 33's rough draft to a point worthy of beginning edits on, so here y'all go!

slight disclaimer just to ease any confusion: this chapter is written in a fairly different style than my others, so I hope it isn't too strange! if it helps though, the majority is a description of the past (as opposed to a proper flashback) and then it shifts briefly to the present. the writing itself may seem less formal than in previous chapters, but that is completely intentional to account for a younger perspective :)

enjoy!!
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If ever there was a time (Y/N) wished she could relive, it would have been the day she ran away.

Four years old and ready to take on the world, she had strapped up her shoes right-on-left and left-on-right and proudly marched out of the orphanage door. Her ruffled hair had a pink barrette by her temple, a sparkly blue butterfly attached at the end; she'd put on the yellow winter coat that gave her the appearance of a tiny marshmallow, stuffing the pockets with candy and paper clips; and her tiptoes were just tall enough for her to reach the smooth, sculpted door handle.

That morning had been cold, the crisp beginnings of November pricking her nose and cheeks. Her wrongly-worn shoes left no marks in the soft grass of the lawn, her small movements and warm breathing hushed by the wind.

Woodberry was located in the just-barely part of rural country, not too far from but not too close to the suburbs. (Y/N) could often look outside the small window in her shared bedroom and see the divide where the night sky fell victim to light pollution and occasional smog. She liked pushing open her window and sticking the upper half of her body as far out as possible, twisting to lean back on the windowsill and gaze at the constellations. She liked being able to play with the orphanage's chickens and run around in the nearby grassy fields—to shout or sing or simply yell 'echo!' and hear the noise carried briefly before the wide expanse of emptiness muted it, void of proper reverberance. She liked the area that held Woodberry Home.

She didn't like the home, though.

Woodberry was just a place. It wasn't home. Not for her.

Her room was always cold, she and her rotating roommates having to bundle up in their comforters each night until they fell asleep. The steps always creaked too loudly, waking her up every time Miss Rosemary, her caretaker (but she liked to call her Goldie because of her shiny blonde hair), would walk down from her room to take her sleeping pill; ten forty-five each night, always followed by more gentle sounds of wood bowing under pressure and slippers shuffling along the floor. Her drawers of clothes always smelled funny—not necessarily bad or musty, just funny—and the scent would cling to her skin too long for comfort. None of the other kids had the same problem, and none of them seemed to notice the strange, overdone air-freshener smell that lingered in the air around her. But it still bothered her, and she didn't find it fair.

Nothing about Woodberry Place was fair to her.

She would play with the chickens, but then Goldie would hurriedly call her inside. None of the other kids—just (Y/N).

She brought up how her nose itched with the smell of her clothes, but Goldie would shrug sadly and say that there were too many kids in the orphanage to be swapping around dressers.