Rewriting to improve writing.
"Gods are born out of the need of humans but they shall die at the hands of the ones they've wronged."
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The world of demigods has never been a safe one, plagued by monsters, the wrath of gods, and the impending d...
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Trust is a fragile thing indeed, and some gods don't seem to get the memo.
*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*.・゜-: ✧ :-
༺♥༻
Y/N woke up, and her first thought wasn't poetic or dramatic.
It wasn't some Oh my gods, I have returned or Where am I? What dark secrets have been unveiled? Nope. None of that cinematic, emotionally heavy bullshit.
It was just pure, undiluted disgust.
The kind of disgust that seeps into your bones when you realize your clothes-your stupid, stiff, school-issued clothes-are sticking to your body like an ex who just doesn't get the hint. The fabric, which usually sat there, minding its business, had apparently declared war on her skin, clinging to every possible surface with a vengeance. Every wrinkle, every poorly sewn seam, every square inch of that godforsaken uniform was conspiring against her, making her want to rip it off and set it on fire. It was damp. It was stiff. It smelled weird. And worst of all? She had no fucking idea why.
Had she been sweating in her sleep? Had she been-oh gods, had she been drooling? No, no, that wasn't it. This felt worse. Like she'd been rolling around in dirt and regret for hours. Maybe days.
Before she could even sit up and make sense of whatever new, ridiculous, divine-level nonsense had befallen her, a hand shoved her back down.
Y/N blinked.
Her vision was still adjusting, her brain running on half a frame per second, but the figure above her was painfully familiar.
"Maliah?" she rasped, blinking at her best friend, who sat way too comfortably beside the bed. She was wearing a bright orange T-shirt-the kind of bright that burned the retinas and personally offended every fashion law known to man. Across the chest, in a bold, blocky font, were the words CAMP HALF-BLOOD.
Y/N squinted at it like it had personally wronged her.
Maliah, completely unaffected, just smiled, adjusting the loose bun sitting effortlessly on top of her head. Of course, of course her hair was perfect. Like she hadn't just been through some supernatural shit. Like she hadn't been unconscious in the same nightmare Y/N had lived through. Some people really were built different.
"Rest," Maliah said simply, like she was some mystical healer with ancient wisdom instead of a girl who would 100% trip over her own feet if given the opportunity. "You must be exhausted. You were out for a whole day."
...A day?
A whole day?
Y/N's stomach dropped. That wasn't a nap. That was a medically concerning amount of unconsciousness.
