─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
❛ Here we are at the end of the world, waiting for the sky to break into flames─but we are together, as if the stars had aligned. ❜
Percy Jackson never thought he would fall in love with a traitor.
[completed - editing]
[p...
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✩━━━bonus, the lament of nico di angelo.
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IN VENEZIA, HIS MAMMA HAD HUNG A WEATHERED AND DISCOLORED CROSS ABOVE THEIR HOME'S THRESHOLD. A token of both protection and faith bestowed upon them by a nun, as Maria had explained, her smile emanating an inherent warmth that Nico struggled to recall. Now, in an entirely different century, within a completely different country and a lifetime empty of his mother, the image of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ persisted flawlessly in his mind. It remained razor-sharp even as his mother's face began to blur in certain places, gradually fading from memory.
Nico was never able to figure out whatever veneration his mamma had for that old cross. Every day, as they stepped over the threshold of the front door, Bianca and his mamma would bless themselves, their fingers moving from forehead to chest, whispering a prayer under their breaths in a ritual that sanctified their entry into their home. Nico would avert his eyes each time, mumbling his way through a half-hearted imitation; he could not face the sight of sunken ribs and pierced flesh without fear and discomfort creeping into his heart. To him, it was just a mutilated man, suspended in agony on a piece of wood.
Maria held the belief that Jesus' suffering brought hope and salvation to the world. But now, with his mamma gone, Nico was left alone to seek the beauty concealed within nailed hands and exposed ribs.
In the modern world, Nico finds himself with an endless amount of free time. Gone are the days of attending a Catholic academy in the early morning and going to mass each Sunday. He no longer has to sit quietly in a pew for half of his life, listening to the priest's sermons about sin and redemption; he'll never again have to endure the sight of his sister struggling to sing in the choir. The cold sensation of his mother's pearls against his skin is a memory he'll never relive.
Both Bianca and his mother are gone; sua nonna, le zie e gli zii dovevano essere ormai morti. Cugini, amici d'infanzia e le suore che una volta gli avevano insegnato se ne sono andati tutti: erano vecchi già allora, quindi sicuramente le loro ossa ora sono polvere nelle mani del tempo... solo polvere, proprio come ciò che restava della sua casa d'infanzia dopo che fu distrutta.
