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☠︎
She can feel the life energy of the boy in front of her. It's a comforting and determined hum that tells her he's not dead.
With hesitant steps she passes the chair that now has a golden statue of her best friend on it. Her hand brushes against the now solid gold hair that just a few seconds ago was blonde and curly.
Her eyes find the shield and her gaze hardens.
Without a second glance at it, she steps over it and kneels behind the chair.
She's not leaving him. Her hands slither beyond the gears that are visible on the back of the chair and with all her might, she pulls.
Nothing happens.
What would Annabeth see?
But despite trying to think like her friend, she sees nothing but cursed golden pinwheels that basically laugh at her hopeless expression.
There's a clang somewhere up, hinges creaking and alerting Morana.
She stays down but her body tenses in alert, wings revealing themselves. Up, behind a railing, walking in from a door is a man with white hair, matching the same colored beard and mustache.
His cane knocks against the metal floor he's walking on as he slowly steps towards the railing, looking down at Morana through his glasses.
She throws a distasteful look at the man and then turns back to the gears.
"Do you need some help finding your way out?" The man asks and Morana doesn't even turn to him, simply pulls her wing between her and the man, shielding her frame.
There's a watery sound as if something gets pulled out of the water, but Morana isn't interested.
"Off you go."
If looks could kill, the man would be dead. And that says a lot since he's immortal and a certain god of craftsmen.
Morana's brows are furrowed in concentration and hatred, her wing shielding the lower part of her face as she grants one look at the man.
"It's kind of a one-way sort of thing. It can't be undone", he calls and Morana's ready to pierce his pathetic head with her sword.
"How do you know?" Morana asks lowly, not giving up.
