Percy Jackson. A name that many knew. He was a hero to all. But Percy Jackson is not here anymore. Not since Sally Jackson was murdered in her sleep with her husband and unborn child. Not since I read the note beside Sally Jackson's head. Not since...
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"When we first heard about your father," Uncle started, making a small gesture with his hand as Clarissa continued to draw, "around the time he and Jocelyn got together, long before the Uprising and the Circle, Valentine elevated the Morgenstern name - to be synonymous by virtue. And your Mother was at his side."
"But by the time our people came to know him, barely two years later," I drawled out while rubbing the bridge of my nose, as talking about the past was my least favorite pastime. "His name became synonymous with devastation. Your mother told us then was when she first saw the signs."
My mind then went into the memory Jocelyn spoke of hen she first began to worry. He called us demons, even though he was the one who slaughtered them. Even here, I can never escape prejudice.
"They never found all the bodies," Uncle continued with a seemingly relaxed voice, but I knew he was feeling the anger and pain of not giving a proper burial to our fellow Downworlders. "We all stood with the Clave for centuries."
"How can that not matter to him?" The small red-headed girl questioned while peeking her head up from her slowly forming art.
"He was obsessed with ensuring purity of blood," Uncle continued, walking away from the wonderful view of Brooklyn at night with a scotch on the rocks he was still nursing in his hand. "Convinced the impurities were a threat to peace."
"He was the threat to peace."
"Madmen rarely make sense, Clarissa." I droned out as my face was stuffed in one of the fluffy pillows that were laid on the end of the fainting couch I had face-planted into earlier. What? I'm tired and lazy, give me a break. "Mostly they just hate."
"And how he hated the Downworlders," Uncle said with a sneer and venom in his voice. "Jealous of the gifts we have, but could never obtain. He hated us enough to kill us all."
At this, Uncle and I simultaneously growled and flared our Warlock eyes at the idea of Valentine stealing away any of our family members or friends. Clarissa gained a confident, yet angered look as she continued to sketch as our conversation fell silent.
I slowly head back towards Luke as he slept with a pained expression, flinching from time to time.
"Oh αγάπη, please hurry."
Time passed and soon, Clarissa finished her artwork. . . and it mortified me.
"Ever since my mother was kidnapped, and the Shadow World invaded my life," Clarissa explained exasperatedly as Uncle and I studied the horrifying image that the Nephilim presented us. "So many Downworlders have helped me, not even thinking about what it might cost them. How could Valentine not see good in any of them?"
"He was blinded by his ambition," Uncle explained.
"Why didn't the Clave stop him?" I scoffed while Uncle shook his as Clarissa burned a hole in the floor with her constant pacing.
