[ it must be a joke, all of this. the compound, the bullshit t-shirt she found when she woke up (she most certainly does not love new york), the fact that wherever they are isn't home and it probably isn't friendly, either. there are really only two options: she's dead and the stories she's heard about the underworld were all fairy tales, just like she used to think the gods themselves were; or, two, she's alive and this is just another trap, another trick, another test from their parents who've never given a shit about them and never will. she almost thinks she'd rather be dead. ]
[ she can't remember much of anything — except the battle, silena, the drakon, screaming, crying — can't remember if they won, if they lost, if the battle is even over. hyperborean giant, she thinks, but it's the last thing she remembers before she woke up cold, alone — and, not that she'd admit it: afraid. maybe this is all just a dream, hera playing tricks on her, but clarisse hasn't ever done anything to piss off that bitch (that's all annabeth, always has been); if anyone should be pissed off at her, shouldn't it be aphrodite? it's clarisse's fault one of her daughters died, isn't it? (it is.) but clarisse can't imagine aphrodite cared any more for silena than ares cared for clarisse. who else mourns the deaths of demigods but demigods themselves? the gods don't care; clarisse wishes she didn't. but silena's the only person clarisse has ever truly cared for, with her heart, with her soul, with her life — but, then, silena beat her to that one. stupid girl. ]
[ COME BACK! DON'T GO IN THERE! ]
[ it's a faint echo in her head, from when she woke up to now, standing just outside the door labeled MEDBAY — a warning, maybe, probably, but clarisse has never been very good at listening to warnings. ]
[ she only makes it about two feet in before she stops dead in her tracks, staring, frozen and silent, face paling like she's seen a ghost. and she must be seeing a ghost or hallucinating or dead or dreaming — this can't be real — because she can still feel silena in her arms, dying, the tears still fresh on her face, her throat still raw from screaming, demanding kronos come out and face her; she can still feel the weight of her own guilt, the warmth slowly draining from silena's body, the color fading from her eyes, and then she was gone, dead, and it was clarisse's fault. if she had just — if she hadn't — if, if, if. ]
[ words die in her throat; what can she even say? there's nothing she can say, nothing that would make up for everything, nothing that would make it all okay. she let silena die and she'll never forgive herself for that. but it's her guilt, her fear, that keeps her rooted to the spot she's in, keeps her staring at silena — beautiful, radiant, impossible silena — her best friend, her everything, but more than all of that, the one person she never told i love you. ]
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[ she can't remember much of anything — except the battle, silena, the drakon, screaming, crying — can't remember if they won, if they lost, if the battle is even over. hyperborean giant, she thinks, but it's the last thing she remembers before she woke up cold, alone — and, not that she'd admit it: afraid. maybe this is all just a dream, hera playing tricks on her, but clarisse hasn't ever done anything to piss off that bitch (that's all annabeth, always has been); if anyone should be pissed off at her, shouldn't it be aphrodite? it's clarisse's fault one of her daughters died, isn't it? (it is.) but clarisse can't imagine aphrodite cared any more for silena than ares cared for clarisse. who else mourns the deaths of demigods but demigods themselves? the gods don't care; clarisse wishes she didn't. but silena's the only person clarisse has ever truly cared for, with her heart, with her soul, with her life — but, then, silena beat her to that one. stupid girl. ]
[ COME BACK! DON'T GO IN THERE! ]
[ it's a faint echo in her head, from when she woke up to now, standing just outside the door labeled MEDBAY — a warning, maybe, probably, but clarisse has never been very good at listening to warnings. ]
[ she only makes it about two feet in before she stops dead in her tracks, staring, frozen and silent, face paling like she's seen a ghost. and she must be seeing a ghost or hallucinating or dead or dreaming — this can't be real — because she can still feel silena in her arms, dying, the tears still fresh on her face, her throat still raw from screaming, demanding kronos come out and face her; she can still feel the weight of her own guilt, the warmth slowly draining from silena's body, the color fading from her eyes, and then she was gone, dead, and it was clarisse's fault. if she had just — if she hadn't — if, if, if. ]
[ words die in her throat; what can she even say? there's nothing she can say, nothing that would make up for everything, nothing that would make it all okay. she let silena die and she'll never forgive herself for that. but it's her guilt, her fear, that keeps her rooted to the spot she's in, keeps her staring at silena — beautiful, radiant, impossible silena — her best friend, her everything, but more than all of that, the one person she never told i love you. ]