"Send me! Send an army! Send a thousand ships! I don't care, just bring her home. I hate being without her."
[ PERCY JACKSON x FEMALE OC ]
[ PERCY JACKSON SERIES ]
cover by @humaneity !
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0008. | WHAT IS GRIEF IF NOT FAITH SURRENDERED
When the sun doesn't move, doesn't rise, doesn't set, the question of whether the sun still exists comes to mind. Does it still live, breathe, burn? She knew it once as well as the back of her hand, the light, the heat, the weight, she knew it all so well and she could remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. Her father's white blond hair that framed his face and dangled over his eyes, his bright eyes when he saw her hiding. He hadn't just carried the sun in that moment, he had been the sun. She swore she had never seen someone so godly or divine than her father in his imprisonment in his own domain. But here, on the top of the mountain, chained to a rock, she could see no sunlight.
As a kid, she had always felt his presence. Every day, she rose with the sun and could stare at it freely. Where other children's eyes were burned and scarred with black dots from the brightness of the burning star, Octavia and Otto could stare freely at the sun for hours without fear of being scorned. She had always felt her father, until now. Now, in the place where the sun did not rise and did not set, her only reminder of something divine in the world was the distant sight of Lady Artemis on her knees, bearing the weight of the sky on her shoulders. Octavia found she couldn't look at her for long. The guilt was almost as heavy as the sky.
She thought prayer would help. It was what Chiron always taught her, if she could not use her weapons, she would use her words. Only, the Dracaena Sess who was guarding her was relentless. If she made a sound, she was smacked with that whip she carried.
Her sweater had torn open on the back a long while ago and she had felt the blood trail from her shoulders down her spine like rainwater before it dried. The lacerations were still healing. The same blood had dribbled down from the sewn over artery at her wrist where Sess had tried to tear off her bow cuff. She had barely been able to heal over the artery that she had cut. the rest of the wound was still open. She found her healing was weaker now since the sky. She hadn't been able to sleep, either. Sleep meant nightmares worse than what she was living. She didn't like to welcome that experience.
She kept her eyes shut, her head down, and her mind focused. It was the only way to stay awake, it was the only way to stay alert. She knew if she let her guard down, she would die. That scared her more than anything. She didn't want to die a prisoner. She didn't want to die like countless women before her. Iphigenia. Andromache. Hecuba. She didn't want it. She didn't want to be just another number, another name. She wanted more.
She was chained to a rock, whipped through her flesh, exhausted without sleep, not healing, alone, completely alone, and her biggest concern was the matter of her death. She wanted it to matter.
Father, help me.
She didn't know if he was listening. She hoped he was. She had no right to expect him to listen to her prayers without her sacrificing anything to gather his attention. She didn't burn any meat or spill any blood with her prayer as was proper, but she did pray solemnly. She hoped it was loud enough to be heard. She hoped her pain was loud. She hoped it was a scream. She hoped it scarred something other than her skin.
