( it's funny, because they all know the universe began when the earth met the sky -- uranos and gaea, and that's where it all started, where all the world comes from, all the constellations, all the stories, all the everything. but that's not where it started for silena, because she doesn't care much about the gods beyond an idle acceptance of knowing where she comes from -- her universe began from one side of camp to the other, locked and loaded in throwing spears and knowing smiles, in ares cabin right across the way from aphrodite.
it started, ended, all encompassing surrounded clarisse, who's the answer to the question no one's asking because it's so blatantly obvious. why did you give yourself up to the drakon?, she imagined clarisse asking on her ride to manhattan, putting on a brave face and ripping the heart off her sleeve and replacing it with clarisse's fearless one -- maybe in some kinder or crueler world, she'd be able to tell clarisse you, you're the reason, you've always been the reason, you always will be. but the fates clip her string, steal life before silena ever really lived, and if she weren't in such mind blistering pain at the time, she probably would've smiled underneath clarisse's grecian helmet, rocking herself away to the shadowy underworld.
would mother be proud? what cause, after all, is more noble to die for, than true love itself?
it really isn't noble, though, it's cowardice. a goodbye without words, with silena attempting to rally clarisse to the fight, and clarisse saying no. there's a cruel irony in a child of aphrodite loving someone who will never truly understand love, too hard and too closed off to know what lies beyond the products of war -- that isn't her clarisse, though, the one that all the others see with war paint on her cheeks and her voice shouting victory. her clarisse sits with walls tumbled down, in whispered midnights, in pointed fingers up to the sky saying one day clarisse will be among the heroes they pay homage to.
and silena would be happy to watch. if the fates were kinder.
they aren't, and that much is obvious in now -- clarisse having to see her after the sacrifice, like this. she freezes for solid, tangible seconds before she comes to. ) Don't -- ( a single eye welted up in tears, she spins and faces the other way, hands slapping against her face. ) Don't look at me!
( call it vain, call it superficial, call it whatever you will. silena can't fight that she just doesn't want clarisse to see her like this -- wounded and marred, swollen with too much emotion to comprehend. when did she grow so out of touch with her heart? was it the moment she died or the moment she saw clarisse, looking at her as if the scars, the badinage, all the wounds in the world just don't matter? silena feels ugly, inside and out, incapable of holding a light to something that shines as brightly, brilliantly and perfectly as clarisse.
after a hard second, she looks over her shoulder with her good eye, wide and afraid. )
Did you slay it?
( did you survive?, is the point. because that's all that matters. )
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it started, ended, all encompassing surrounded clarisse, who's the answer to the question no one's asking because it's so blatantly obvious. why did you give yourself up to the drakon?, she imagined clarisse asking on her ride to manhattan, putting on a brave face and ripping the heart off her sleeve and replacing it with clarisse's fearless one -- maybe in some kinder or crueler world, she'd be able to tell clarisse you, you're the reason, you've always been the reason, you always will be. but the fates clip her string, steal life before silena ever really lived, and if she weren't in such mind blistering pain at the time, she probably would've smiled underneath clarisse's grecian helmet, rocking herself away to the shadowy underworld.
would mother be proud? what cause, after all, is more noble to die for, than true love itself?
it really isn't noble, though, it's cowardice. a goodbye without words, with silena attempting to rally clarisse to the fight, and clarisse saying no. there's a cruel irony in a child of aphrodite loving someone who will never truly understand love, too hard and too closed off to know what lies beyond the products of war -- that isn't her clarisse, though, the one that all the others see with war paint on her cheeks and her voice shouting victory. her clarisse sits with walls tumbled down, in whispered midnights, in pointed fingers up to the sky saying one day clarisse will be among the heroes they pay homage to.
and silena would be happy to watch. if the fates were kinder.
they aren't, and that much is obvious in now -- clarisse having to see her after the sacrifice, like this. she freezes for solid, tangible seconds before she comes to. ) Don't -- ( a single eye welted up in tears, she spins and faces the other way, hands slapping against her face. ) Don't look at me!
( call it vain, call it superficial, call it whatever you will. silena can't fight that she just doesn't want clarisse to see her like this -- wounded and marred, swollen with too much emotion to comprehend. when did she grow so out of touch with her heart? was it the moment she died or the moment she saw clarisse, looking at her as if the scars, the badinage, all the wounds in the world just don't matter? silena feels ugly, inside and out, incapable of holding a light to something that shines as brightly, brilliantly and perfectly as clarisse.
after a hard second, she looks over her shoulder with her good eye, wide and afraid. )
Did you slay it?
( did you survive?, is the point. because that's all that matters. )