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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Most people are other people. Their thoughts are other people's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.
༺♥༻ Tw- Luke and Y/n being bad role models. DO NOT SMOKE WITHOUT A SAFEi ENVIRONMENT AND TRUSTED PEOPLE NEARBY. DON'T SMOKE AT ALL. IT'S BAD. THEY'RE DEMIGODS. YOU'RE NOT.
✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*
The light was unbearable.
It drilled through Y/N's eyelids like a hot iron, sending a stabbing pain straight into the depths of her skull. Her head pounded with the force of a sledgehammer, a deep, relentless ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. She barely registered the damp cloth resting on her forehead, the sensation cold against the fevered skin beneath. Every breath she took was shallow, every muscle in her body stiff with exhaustion, every nerve frayed to its last thread.
Then there was the cold. Not the sharp kind that made you shiver but the deep, seeping sort that settled into the marrow of your bones. It wasn't just the room; it was her. The thin, unfamiliar shirt clinging to her clammy skin only made it worse, sending tiny shudders up her spine as the fabric rubbed against the raw, tender places she hadn't yet found the strength to examine.
Something moved beside her, a breath hitching, a chair scraping closer to the bed.
"Y/N!"
Maliah's voice cracked like shattering glass. She was crying—had been crying. There was no mistaking the tear tracks staining her cheeks, or the way her lips were chapped and bruised, skin bitten raw at the corners. Her eyes were bloodshot, wide with something awful and helpless. Y/N barely managed to turn her head, her limbs sluggish and heavy as if the weight of her own body had doubled overnight.
Her hand moved on instinct, slow and clumsy, fingers brushing over Maliah's cheek in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. The attempt at a smile that followed was a mistake. Agony lanced through the side of her face, sharp and deep, like a rusted hook dragging through her flesh. She gasped, jerking back, her hand reflexively shooting to the source of the pain.
And then—confusion.
Her palm pressed against the left side of her face, fingertips grazing the curve of her cheekbone, the space around her eye. Her vision stayed the same. She could see Maliah, could still make out her friend's wrecked expression.
But when she switched hands—
Maliah disappeared.
The world on her left side was gone, swallowed in a murky, impenetrable blur. No shapes. No colors. Nothing but a vague haze, an empty static void where vision should have been. A sick, nauseating dread churned in her stomach as she blinked rapidly, testing it, tilting her head, moving her fingers in front of her left eye. Nothing.
