[ the answer is out of clarisse's mouth before she even has time to think about it; she doesn't need time to think about it. did she slay it? yes, more than that, and she would have done more than than and more than that and more than that if she could have, if there had been anything left to destroy, if kronos hadn't been a coward — and maybe then she would have died, too, and saved her the pain of living without silena at her side. dionysus may have been able to cure madness, to give chris his life back, but profound sadness is another matter entirely, and one clarisse is sure she never wants to know. maybe, for once, the gods are doing her a favor. ]
I slaughtered it.
[ like venom on her lips, the words spit out of her mouth. yes, she slayed it, she dragged its carcass on the back of her chariot around manhattan, she screamed at the top of her lungs and cried and cut down anything in her path because silena died and clarisse let it happen and not even a drakon carcass, no number of monsters killed, could ever bring her back — ]
[ and yet. ]
[ and yet, somehow, by the fate of the gods, by luck, destiny, maybe all three, silena is here. she's here and she has to be real. they could both be dead, but it wouldn't matter as long as they were dead together and sharing the same afterlife. clarisse would gladly spend the rest of eternity in the depths of the underworld if silena was there with her. her life has never meant more than when silena was in it. and so the space between them closes like a door, clarisse moving across the room to stand only inches away, a shaky hand stilling to reach out and touch silena's face, fingers brushing gently over the scar. clarisse did this, not the drakon, and she can still feel the acid bubble beneath her fingertips, wishes it had been her instead. clarisse has always been ugly; what's another scar to an ares kid? but silena — iridescent, ethereal, luminous — she never deserved this, never deserved any of clarisse's ugliness, never deserved to be marked as a casualty of war. ]
[ but what would a daughter of aphrodite be if she didn't take that and make it beautiful? because all clarisse sees is beauty; it's all she ever has seen, since the first day she laid eyes on her. she keep her voice hushed but firm, a strangled string of words she tries to voice authority to. ] Silena, look at me. [ then, a little more desperately, barely more than a whisper, ] Please.
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I slaughtered it.
[ like venom on her lips, the words spit out of her mouth. yes, she slayed it, she dragged its carcass on the back of her chariot around manhattan, she screamed at the top of her lungs and cried and cut down anything in her path because silena died and clarisse let it happen and not even a drakon carcass, no number of monsters killed, could ever bring her back — ]
[ and yet. ]
[ and yet, somehow, by the fate of the gods, by luck, destiny, maybe all three, silena is here. she's here and she has to be real. they could both be dead, but it wouldn't matter as long as they were dead together and sharing the same afterlife. clarisse would gladly spend the rest of eternity in the depths of the underworld if silena was there with her. her life has never meant more than when silena was in it. and so the space between them closes like a door, clarisse moving across the room to stand only inches away, a shaky hand stilling to reach out and touch silena's face, fingers brushing gently over the scar. clarisse did this, not the drakon, and she can still feel the acid bubble beneath her fingertips, wishes it had been her instead. clarisse has always been ugly; what's another scar to an ares kid? but silena — iridescent, ethereal, luminous — she never deserved this, never deserved any of clarisse's ugliness, never deserved to be marked as a casualty of war. ]
[ but what would a daughter of aphrodite be if she didn't take that and make it beautiful? because all clarisse sees is beauty; it's all she ever has seen, since the first day she laid eyes on her. she keep her voice hushed but firm, a strangled string of words she tries to voice authority to. ] Silena, look at me. [ then, a little more desperately, barely more than a whisper, ] Please.