that summer |percabeth au| ✔︎

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - Amatheia

I suppose I thought it was a dream at first, whatever called me out of Percy's embrace, luring me to the sea. The kind where you know it's a dream, and you just settle in for the ride and see what your wild subconscious might invent. Flying, perhaps. Or breathing underwater. Or time traveling, back to the past.

But by the time I realized what had happened—that I'd slipped beneath the Queen of Cups in the middle of the night, left Percy sleeping soundly in the berth—I was wide awake.

The sea had finally come to make good on its promise.

To claim me.

Not to ruin the story, but if you've come this far, you should know how it happens.

The end begins, as all things must, in the water. Now.

Ropes of blonde hair twist before my eyes, swaying like reeds. One by one, blue clips loosen from the braids, tiny jeweled starfish that

drip-drip-drop

into the deep.

Midnight stands before me, her body ebony and deep blue, half woman, half moon. Long black hair tipped with moonlight spills down over her breasts and hips, and with one eye open she watches me, imploring.

I nod, and she turns to lead the way, enticing me to follow.

Every step sends knives through my limbs, so tight is my dress, so restrictive. My mouth tastes of blood, my lungs burn with red-hot pain.

But still, I follow.

Finally Midnight turns, one finger pressed to her lips.

Before her a pale soldier appears, dressed in a red coat with golden buttons, loose but well-appointed over bone-white breeches. Tattered bandages hang from his head and limbs; in the water they sway and shift, wrapping around Midnight's ankles.

He wears no skin, only bones. Death.

Death bows his head, hiding from me the sunken black caves of his eyes. Midnight's legs run red with blood.

Behind them a new figure emerges from the darkness.

The mermaid queen. She's been expecting me.

I am Amatheia. I am the First. Her scarlet lips don't move; I hear her voice inside me. Her eyes shine with yellow flame, the same light emanating—impossibly—from double-ended wands she holds in each hand. Her chest is obscured with golden shells. The queen of the watery realm.

At my nod, her beauty turns to rot and ruin. I dare not look away, dare not flinch.

"But I am Amatheia," I say numbly, involuntarily. The sound of my own voice is shocking to my ears.

Her laughter drifts like soap bubbles, each landing and bursting against my lips. Do you not see? For I am you, she says. From the blackness behind her a serpent slithers forth, coiling around her waist. The snake consumes its tail, vanishing when it reaches the end. And you are me.

The serpent reappears, encircles her, consumes itself again.

Again. Again.

The yellow flames extinguish.

A flash of silver, and her knife is in my mouth, her fingers cold and slippery between my lips. Blade against my tongue.

I don't fear her. There's peace in knowing it will finally end, that I will exit as I arrived, last breath as my first. Salt water. The sea.

I'm ready.

But as my heartbeat stalls, as my limbs give their final tremble, as all around me turns to darkness, I can't help but wonder...