take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die, i don't belong
𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 a mortal girl is thrown
into the godly world and forced to
save everyone before its too late.
[ percy jackson x oc ]
[ percy jackson & the olympians ]
[ the ligh...
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Weak.
Lost cause.
Can't save them.
Those were only some of the things Marlowe heard in her mind throughout the past six months. She thought that she had it under control, but it seemed like it had more control over her.
She grew angry. Angry at the gods and the Fates. Angry at Kronos and Luke. Angry at herself. Angry at Percy.
And the worst part was that she didn't even know why. Why was she mad at Percy? He hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, he tried to make her feel better, he reassured her of her worries, and she still shut him out. Memories of Christmas plagued her mind. The way she just broke down. The way she snapped at him. The way she ran out on him. The whole reason she lied at first was to make sure that didn't happen, yet it still did. Stupid Fates and their mysterious ways.
It became noticeable to campers, too. She was distant anytime anyone came up to her. The usual warmth and sunshine around her was gone, replaced with bitterness and cold. Her once bright eyes were now dull, the green so dark it appeared black. Marlowe used to have a glow of sun around her, but it was long gone—faded into the darkness like her thoughts. Maybe Apollo knew something was wrong, but he stopped visiting, so she would never know.
Even at night she didn't get peace. She had nightmares. Seeing Percy die, seeing camp burn in front of her eyes—that was the usual. She had gotten used to them at that point. But right after the new year, something different happened while she slept. Because they weren't really dreams. More like...visions.
The main one she saw was of her in a dark stone tunnel. She was on her knees and screaming until her lungs gave out. There was this faint yellow glow around her, flickering to life and then dying out just as quickly. She also saw some images of her friends—Percy burning a gold shroud, Annabeth jumping in front of someone to protect them, Grover and Tyson running in complete darkness, their feet sloshing in the puddles on the ground.
Every time, she woke up drenched in sweat and clutching her heart, feeling like it might jump out of her skin and leave her lifeless. Her shoulder blade would be burning so bad she thought her bones would melt, but then she remembered that there wasn't actually anything there. It was just her mind conjuring up something to pinpoint the pain—or was it? The rest of the Apollo cabin would be silent, aside from a few snores and people shifting around.
Marlowe would stumble out of her cabin and wander around camp, the voices growing louder in her head. The shadows pulled at her sanity, tugging her every which way. Whispers of the dead called out to her, their cries of pain causing her to whimper.
She felt like a rag doll—a puppet being used for someone else's needs. Everything she did wasn't because she wanted to do it, but because someone else was making her. She was a prisoner in her own body and there was no way to escape.