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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We're kids with broken hearts and bruised souls; not heroes with sharp knives as tongues.
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There were only three guarantees in life: death, taxes, and the fact that if you walked into the Aphrodite cabin smelling like a wet, concussed sewer rat, you were going to be treated like you had personally dragged your ass out of Chernobyl.
Y/N was living proof of this.
A shower had been the first step in her recovery from the grievous (read: kind of deserved) head injury she had sustained earlier. The details were a little fuzzy, but she did remember two important things: 1) she had made a very bad joke at the expense of one of the Aphrodite kids, and 2) she had gotten bodied for it.
And honestly? Fair.
Did she remember what exactly she had said? No.
Did she remember getting a handful of rose-scented Aphrodite-branded body glitter sucker-punched into her skull like she owed someone money? Oh, absolutely.
Hence, the concussion—which Silena had lovingly referred to as "natural selection" before begrudgingly helping clean her up.
And after an entire afternoon of suffering, pain, and what felt like a fever dream of an apology session, Y/N was finally clean, fed (kind of), and only mildly traumatized by the fact that the Aphrodite kids had literal weapons-grade beauty products.
Which was how she found herself standing outside the Big House with Maliah, still wearing her now-dry camp shirt (thank the gods for that) and feeling less like she had been shoved through a blender.
Maliah, in contrast, looked annoyingly put together despite the absolute state of their day. She had thrown on a pair of gray leggings, a loose hoodie (Y/N vaguely recognized it as one of Asael's), and her usual sneakers, making her look like she had just come from a normal day at a normal summer camp and not whatever chaotic hellhole Camp Half-Blood actually was.
And yet, despite her concussion, despite the fact that neither of them had any idea what was going on, here they were—about to go upstairs to retrieve a prophecy from the literal corpse-puppet that resided in the attic.
Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. "Alright. Let's just get this over with before I start regretting my entire existence."
Maliah, ever the optimist, shot her a look. "Before?"
Y/N glared at her.
Then, with a dramatic sigh, she pushed open the door, stepping into the Big House.
