Wildflowers, Percy Jackson ₁

004, what is she doing here

CHAPTER FOUR

₊˚࿐࿔ 𖥧‧₊⚘ ❀༉. 𓏲｡

Sylvie was about to pull a Eurydice and give up on sleeping entirely. Seriously. She was sick and tired of going through the same things every night—being tired all day, going to sleep, dreaming something terrible, waking up, being tired all day, repeat.

At least she could be slightly grateful about something—she wasn't dreaming about Augusts with her parents on a lone farm in Albany. However, she was dreaming about just her dad. Which was probably a million times worse, several touches more traumatic.

"Sil! Help me!"

Sylvie tossed and turned in her cot, eyes clenching desperately to make the horrors go away. She tried hugging her blanket, tried bringing herself some semblance of comfort.

"They're gonna hurt me, Sil! I need you!"

Maybe curling the soft pillow beneath her head against her ears would make it all stop. Then, she wouldn't have to hear her father's desperate pleads.

"Sil, darlin'! Please!"

Sylvie sat up in bed as she came to a horrifying realization.

Oh, gods. She wasn't sleeping.

Sylvie genuinely hadn't moved faster in her life. Her brain was suddenly put into overdrive, a setting Sylvie didn't even know it had the capability of working in. She shoved on the nearest pair of shoes, desperately grasped Cereal from under her pillow with one hand and transformed Halcyon in the other. Not even caring if she was waking up her siblings, Sylvie darted out of Cabin 4 and bolted towards the sound of her father.

"Save me, Sil!"

Sylvie couldn't even comprehend the reality of the situation—she was at Camp Half-Blood, a sanctuary for demigods that Conan Duvall couldn't even physically be at; she was sprinting towards the beach with Annabeth and Tyson doing the exact same thing as her, as they had heard Percy's voice screaming the same distress calls. Sylvie was a weak girl who just wanted her father, and the thought of him in any more trouble than he already constantly was in made her want to throw up inside. He was her dad, she needed to help him.

But all she found when she ran to the beach was a lone Percy Jackson staring at the waves.

"You're not my dad," Sylvie accused, mouth parting slightly. She'd never behaved this way in front of Percy—never been desperate or stern or composed—and maybe if she wasn't so disoriented she would care, but her wretched mind was still panicking about Conan Duvall.

"Uh... no," Percy agreed, a little dumbly. "That'd be weird."

"What's going on?" Annabeth asked. "I heard you calling for help!"