we'll go down in history, remember me for centuries
***
In where Hester Sāto joins a quest to return a stolen lightning bolt while trying to learn her godly parentage and control her dangerous curse.
(pjo 1-5)
(part i of the "heroes" duology)
Hester padded down the corridor, wrinkling her nose at the smell of bleach and sickness, suffocating her almost as much as death. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and Hester could see nurses and doctors pass by her, along with patients. She tried to ignore their eyes on her, the seven-year-old girl with dark hair, gold eyes, and holding something delicately in her fist, as she headed down the corridor and went into a room that had become familiar to her.
Her mom's room, where she'd been staying at when her cancer grew worse. And though the doctors didn't talk around her because she was just a kid, Hester still heard them, and felt it even as she wanted to believe that her mom would get better soon.
When she walked in, her mom's doctor, Dr. Wilkins, wasn't in and that her mom was awake. Hester winced at the feeling of death coming from her mom, at how pale and thin she looked, when Hester's stubborn mind imagined her life still so full of life and warmth, that she would get better—that she would be better.
Hester's fingers tightened on the object, threatening to crumple and tear it.
Her mom's head shifted on her pillow, and a tired smile bloomed on her face. A shadow of her smile, but still her smile. "Hello, my little chō."
"Hi, Mom," Hester replied, tiptoeing over to her mom's bed, avoiding the beeping machines and tubes connected to her mom. Avoiding looking at the dark circles under her mom's eyes, her bald head from all her treatments, as Hester crawled onto the bed next to her.
Her mom sat up a little, looking weary but as she always told Hester she was never in pain—just tired—as she put her arm around Hester. "What do you have for me, chō?"
Hester looked down, cheeks flushing as she stared at the little paper bird in her hand. "I... I made you a crane, Mom."
"A crane?" her mom repeated, a hint of the mom Hester knew in her voice again—warm and vibrant, like she was always about to smile or laugh.
"Yeah. Like the story you told me about the paper cranes," Hester said, the words slipping out of her along with her wound-up emotions. "That... that if you make a thousand cranes in an year you can make a wish, and I-I want to make a wish for you to get better, so... so I started making the cranes, because I want you to get better, Mom. But it was so hard making this one, and what if I can't make a thousand in a year, but I really want you to get better, so I'm gonna try, and... and..."
"Oh. Oh, Hester..." her mom murmured, holding her close as a sob hiccuped in Hester. "My sweet, lovely daughter. I'll get better, little chō, and maybe it'll be from your wish on a thousand cranes, that I know you can make. But, Hester—Hester, look at me."
