Serendipity // PJO

And dying and dying and dying

The hat was covering my face, pressing with its musty fabric against my nose and my mouth, hampering my breathing. Every time I was breathing, the hat pressed against my nose and my lips, suffocating me gently but firmly.

Let's have a look what we have here, shouldn't we?, the hat cheeped in my head with high falsetto voice, not noticing, that it was hardening my breathing. But in the sorting ceremony it hadn't took too long to sort the students into the right house. I would be able to bear with this.

What are you going to do now, Mister Hat?, I wanted to know. On one hand, I was really interested, after all I wasn't wearing speaking hats every day so they would sort me into some house in a magical school, so I could sleep in a dorm instead of the Hospital Wing. On the other hand, I wanted to be able to brace myself, if it should be something unpleasant. After all I didn't want to have another breakdown. Softly, the fabric pressed against my chapped lips. 

With every fleeting, shallow breath my lungs filled with the intense odour of mould, wisdom and pumpkin. The hat was emitting the smell of witch magic so stronlgy, so compressed like nothing else, but at the same time it didn't loose its own through this. Heavily, the scent of must and dust, bygone centuries and bitter orange was pushing against my nose, wreathed with itchy tentacles around my conscience.

I'll view your memories, your essence. What you've lost and what you want to find.

I've lost everything. Even in my own ears my voice sounded weak, the odour of the fear of failure, a pithy althoughsubordinate scent of witch magic, was biting in my nose, a dagger, conducted of an invisible hand. In life, there's nothing to find for me anymore. It is merely a question of time until I die and everything will continue just as grey...

Hmmm..., the hat hummed thoughtfully but so different from the villeins, stealing my breath from my lips. Let me see your memories, child. Let go of your armour, bring down your barriers. Maybe I can help you; I won't hurt you.

Everybody is hurting others, I objected, the hat was minding tighter around my face. You just don't always notice.

You are much too young for such wisdom. The hat sighed loudly, its body quaking. Air, heavy with the scent of power and dark chocolate, found its way into my lungs. What is with lovers? Aren't they silken and careful?

Oh, especially lovers are hurting each other, Mister hat. I thought of Annabeth and how tormenting it had to be for her to not know, when I'd come. That I would never come. My mom who was probably crying herself to sleep in Paul's arms. Hazel with her phoenix-like hope. The haunted expression in Clarisse's eyes, when Chris had been insane after surviving the labyrinth. Reyna, who got rejected and rejected again. The heart of love is out of steel and with every heartbeat it is crushing me a bit more. In every moment I am loving, I am suffering.

I wanted to take a breath, shakily and full of hurt, but the smooth fabric was snuggling up against me tightly and caringly, trying to soothe me and to understand, stealing my breath. The gaps between his of magic and parchment scented fibres were adhered with my feelings and words, countless memories and fragments of old souls.

You shouldn't suffer only because a loving heart is beating in your chest. Nobody should.

I stroked over the chair's edge. The goddess of love is a malicious, unscrupulous creature. She loves to have some amusement, all of us are only pretty dolls for her, puppets in her game. If she wants, our hearts will free theirselves from their bony cage and fly in one of another person. She is the Queen of Hearts, only that she doesn't scream "Off with your head!" A humorlous laugh dripped off my chipped lips, as dry as my cheeks once my tears had stopped falling after Annabeth's dead, sore and crusted with salt. I tried to inhale deeply but my nose only filled with the smell of already lived lifes and bygone time. She's simply a goddess.