𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

21 - possession is now a factor cool

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

THE STORY OF ICARUS SEEMED TWISTED TO ELIA. He was painted as a tragedy, someone destroyed by meaningless desire. That didn't seem right.

Yes, he fell. He fell coated in melting wax and surrounded by falling feathers, drunk on wind and adrenaline. The sight was enough to make the traitorous sun shudder; a starving boy, hungry for a taste of warmth, plummeting toward unthinkable death with his teeth bared to the sky. He was mocked for his foolishness, for not heeding his father's warning. But perhaps he needed to be respected, not for his mistake, but for what he accomplished. Because before he fell, he was flying.

Icarus may have loved the sun. If so, his love was tender and smooth, like the wind beneath his own golden wings. And Apollo may have loved him too, but his love instead took on the color of murder, of fire and light. Destruction might not have been what the sun god intended, but such endings always seemed to occur in these tales of gods and mortals. But, even though Apollo's love was bright enough to kill, who was Icarus to complain, for at least he had been loved at all.

These types of tragedies seem to be recycled; Orpheus and Eurydice, Eros and Psyche, Hero and Leander. Love that kills. But isn't the greatest tragedy of them all the fact that many never know of anything but their end? There was love before all that death.

Who are we to define tragedies if we are not the ones who live them? Do you think Icarus thought himself a tragedy? Was it really so disastrous, the sharp grin that split his face as he plunged toward the water?

What is so tragic about grasping what you want, even for a moment?

(Somewhere, Icarus is laughing as he watches men wax poetic about the cruel love of a god. But what about the enduring love of a boy?)

Elia thought she felt the love of her father. Before she thrust her arms open to let the wind catch her wings, she let herself plummet for just a moment, plunging toward the ground like a fallen star, golden and shining. It was just a second, a free fall with nothing below her, but something about it sent a rush of adrenaline through her body so potent, she never thought she'd feel that way again.

As soon as they hit the ground, Elia missed the sky. Golden feathers fell around her feet from the wings strapped to her back, gleaming like slices of sunlight. She was fairly disappointed when they had to stuff the beautiful contraptions in a dumpster.

In a short conversation, the five teens managed to determine a few things: Daedalus wasn't dead, Grover and Tyson were soulless, and planes were bad. Pretty common knowledge.

Elia's shoulder was starting to ache, the adrenaline from the battle wearing off and her warm blood soaking the sleeve of her shirt. She lifted her free hand, pressing her palm to the gash to hopefully stop the blooming crimson. Percy stepped a little closer to examine her arm, his fingers brushing the inside of her elbow as that familiar crease appeared between his brows. Elia's lips quirked up.

"So, we need a car to take us to the city," Annabeth finished, crossing her arms over her chest.

Elia's eyes widened and she raised her blood-soaked hand. "Ooh! We could—"

"We're not letting you hot-wire a stolen car," the daughter of Athena cut her off, rolling her eyes. Elia dropped her hand with a mock-pout, heaving a dramatic sigh.

Rachel glanced toward a nearby parking lot. Her pretty face twisted into a grimace, like she knew their final option and she did not like it. "I'll take care of it."