𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

synopsis

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Elia Bassett was never a fan of the concept of Fate. 

She wasn't a fan of a lot, frankly. Some called her a hater and some a pessimist, to which she agreed wholeheartedly. It's hate or be hated out here, she'd say. And she'd been hated enough in the first few years of her life. 

So she hates. Elia hates the color red; she'd seen too much red for a little girl at the age of merely four— it still stained her fingertips. She also hates heavy metal music, which was far too loud for her liking. Elia also hates ketchup, and would rather ingest almost anything else. She hates random joint pain— she's fifteen, there's no reason she should have it. She hates deep, symbolic philosophy; "You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star." Okay shut the fuck up Nietzsche, no one cares. She hates slow walkers— speed up or get the fuck out of the way, asshole. And most of all, Elia hates the stupid curse she was born with. 

But the thing about haters is that when they love, they love deeply. And Elia does love, mind you. She's not a heartless bastard. 

Elia loves her siblings— Lee, Will, Michael, Lucia, Austin, Kayla. She loves the color green, but a soft green, like sage or jade. Not jealousy green, she knew too well about that. She loves the rain, which was ironic with her parentage. She loves music— there is never a time when a vinyl isn't spinning on the cabin record player. She loves her friends, Annabeth, Connor, Travis, Silena, Grover, Tyson. She loves her father, though he isn't around much— being a god is time consuming. And maybe she doesn't know it yet, but she loves the kind boy with the soft hair and sea-salt gaze; and he loves her just the same.

But Fate, Elia Bassett had a complicated relationship with. 

Fate said a lot of things about her. Cursed child this, tradgedy that; millenia after millenia. Quite chatty, those Fates, the sun god had told her when she was nine. Nine years old, when Elia had nightmares upon nightmares of burning blackness, screaming herself hoarse into the void as bits and pieces of her dethly prophecy floated around her.

She never heard the whole thing, though. Just a shadow of the real meaning, which had still given her nightmares for weeks. She'd crawled into the arms of her 'honorary big brother' Luke many a time, shaking from the dreams of blood and shadow and sacrifice.

Another thing she loved once, and now hates; Luke fucking Castellan. 

Elia had never really had a older brother figure before she was seven, but when the son of Hermes showed up at camp with Annabeth, he'd shoved himself into that role with eager arms. He taught Elia to pickpocket, and the seven-year-old gave him sparring tips. She loved him as fiercely as a hater can love. But the day that she saw Luke Castellan walking away from a certain dying twelve-year-old demigod in the woods, Elia swore she would never love him again. Fuck him. 

But she moved on, loving and hating as one does when you live at a summer camp from the age of four. It was boring, sure, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, but she took pride in whatever she could. Whoever she truly loved was cherished, and with a war looming on the horizon, Elia Basset was determined to lose none of them. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪