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────── ↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ- ──────
annabeth chase had thought she knew death.
throughout her turmoil of childhood, her knowledge slowly blossomed as she gained and lost, taking her experiences and turning them into lessons.
at age five, she thought death to be a friend. someone who took you when you were ready, who smiled and held your hand like an old friend, creating a soft, dulcet parting from the life you once led. as she watched her grandmother heave her final breaths, the young girl couldn't help but notice how peaceful the woman looked, like this was a moment she had been waiting for.
at age seven, annabeth knew herself to be mistaken. as she watched her friend, the girl she had grown to love as a sister, be swallowed by the earth as the chasers finally gained on them, the girl saw death for what he truly was. someone who clawed his way through humanity, taking what he wanted and when he wanted to.
at age sixteen, annabeth knew death to be a trickster.
someone who waited, allowing you to feel the euphoria of the victory wash over your senses, allowing you to feel the weight lifting off your shoulders at last, allowing you to glance at the girl and think, wonder if you could maybe make it work—
and that was when he struck, painting a scene so heartbreakingly cataclysmic it is good, because you know the poets will see the picture and sing of the tragedy of it all. death laughs and pushes a pillar over, and she is so selfless, so cruelly caring that she doesn't even have to think to give her life up for yours.
and you are left in the dust, alone with nothing but the crippling guilt swallowing you whole, the same words repeating over and over again in your mind.
it should've been me.
annabeth knows those words. every time she loses someone, every time someone gets hurt or experiences something that will scar them for life, annabeth finds the guilt creeping up like the sun creeps over the horizon each morning.
no matter how many tears she sheds, they are nothing more than floods trying to fill the cracks of her soul. it does not reverse the fact that she had not done enough, had not been smart, been quick enough, and now she is left with the wholly, unruly cruelty of guilt.
however heartless she thought the gods to be, her opinion has worsened. she can barely think about her mother without feeling the surge of anger lay siege within her senses. because in those melancholic, heart-rending months after the war, annabeth does not hear from her godly parent once. she does not hear any whispers of comfort in her ear as she struggles through each day. there is no owl that watches over her in the solitude of the night. the flames do not even glow slightly when she makes a sacrifice at dinner in her mother's name.
the time passes, blurring into one giant hole of grievance and despair. friends she had made in the past try to reach out, but annabeth ignores them. try as they might, no one on the planet could fill the hole in her life that had been left after the war.
