Jessikador



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    Percy was seven the first time he woke screaming, the taste of blood in his mouth and the howling of hounds resounding throughout his head. His mom rushed into his room to cradle him in her arms. When she asked, he bit his tongue, told her only of dogs chasing after him. He didn’t tell her of the boy with the goat legs, the pain of being torn apart, and the warm light that engulfed him at the end. She held him until he fell back asleep. Elsewhere, a young daughter of Zeus made her final stand.

    Percy was nine when he opened his eyes, phantom lightning crawling over his skin and the echoes of a woman’s last moments still ringing in his ears. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the twin onyx eyes staring back at him.

    When his mother told him the story of his namesake, of Perseus the son of Zeus, he didn't tell her he already knew. Had already seen a mother and her infant set adrift in a raging storm, watched a boy travel far and slay monsters for the sake of his mother’s safety. But he didn’t tell her this. He was young, but he knew already what happened to people like him. People who see.

    He was no prophet; he would not suffer their fate. He would bite his tongue and let the prophecies pass him by.

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    25 Aug 2025

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    The 'Doris' 'Verse

    Words:
    35,238
    Works:
    3
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    107

    21 Jun 2019