Chapter Text
When Feggaria Daphne Jackson was two years old, the music made her cry.
Which was very unfair.
Because nobody else could hear it.
At least, nobody acted like they could hear it.
The whole world sang all the time.
Not regular singing.
Not Frozen singing.
Not Percy dramatically yelling sea shanties while washing dishes because Mom said “make yourself useful.”
Different singing.
Everything alive had music.
Everything.
People.
Dogs.
Birds.
Trees.
The suspicious pigeon outside their apartment sounded like tiny angry violins.
The old orange cat downstairs sounded sleepy.
The weird raccoon near the dumpster sounded like jazz.
At two years old, Feggaria Daphne Jackson had not appreciated this gift.
Because at two years old, everything was already loud.
Then the music came.
And suddenly grocery stores became impossible.
One person sounded sad.
Another sounded angry.
Someone near the cereal aisle sounded nervous.
A baby was making tiny squeaky flute sounds.
A man near produce sounded like thunderstorms.
She had cried so hard Mom abandoned the shopping cart.
Mom thought she hated stores.
Sophia suggested sensory issues.
Percy gave her half a blue cookie and announced blue food fixed sadness.
Ilios tried singing over the crying. “No cryyyyyyng!"
Nobody realized the problem was music.
Feggaria didn’t know what to call it back then.
She was two.
She still called forks “food sticks.”
But the music never stopped.
Not when she slept.
Not on the subway.
Not during dinner.
Always there.
Always humming beneath everything.
By five, she had gotten used to it.
Mostly.
She called it soul music, because that sounded magical.
And important.
And kind of dramatic.
She liked dramatic.
Sometimes.
The songs changed depending on feelings.
Happy music bounced.
Sad music drooped.
Angry music sharpened.
Scared music trembled.
But it always had the same theme.
It was like a fingerprint made of sound.
Her family’s songs were easiest.
Mom’s was chaos.
Good chaos.
Warm chaos.
Like if an orchestra accidentally fell down the stairs but somehow landed in exactly the right places.
Sometimes the whole thing sounded tired.
Sometimes brave.
Sometimes sad in quiet places.
Sometimes angry.
But never broken.
Never.
Mom’s music always kept going.
Like Mom did.
Sometimes, when Mom stood still too long or looked tired in that way she got, Feggaria could hear... something.
Tiny.
Not really music yet.
Just… possibility.
Like somebody warming up before a concert.
Feggaria didn’t understand it.
But she kept noticing.
Percy’s music sounded like the ocean.
Big ocean.
Deep ocean.
Not beach ocean.
Not vacation ocean.
Protective ocean.
Storms underneath calm water.
Sometimes when Percy worried, his soul got louder.
Especially at night.
Especially when he quietly checked if everyone was still in bed.
Feggaria pretended not to notice.
Because Percy liked pretending he wasn’t worried.
Which was silly.
Everyone knew Percy was worried, he was Percy.
Sophia’s music was tiny.
Not boring-tiny.
Complicated tiny.
Like somebody whispering secrets into a violin while reading a dictionary.
Her song hid.
Sometimes Feggaria forgot to listen for it.
Then suddenly, there it was.
Quiet and smart.
Like it knew something.
Ilios... well.
Ilios was weird.
His music trilled.
Fast and bright and impossible to sit still.
Like birds learning jazz.
Like laughter with instruments.
Like someone bouncing down stairs and somehow surviving.
It sounded exactly like him.
Once, on the subway, she suddenly started crying because a man across from them sounded heartbreakingly lonely.
Not normal lonely.
Big lonely.
Like standing in an empty room forever lonely.
Mom panicked immediately.
Percy offered emergency blue gummy sharks.
Sophia said:
“Statistically speaking, crying without explanation usually means something is wrong.”
Helpful.
Very helpful.
Meanwhile Ilios just tilted his head.
Then quietly asked:
“Bad song?”
Feggaria had frozen.
“…What?”
He shrugged.
“You look weird when people sound weird.”
Then he tried to balance on the subway pole and fell.
Feggaria still wasn’t sure if he knew.
Probably not.
But also maybe.
Twin stuff was weird.
Sometimes she thought he could feel things through her.
Sometimes he randomly knew exactly when and why she was upset.
Sometimes he stole food she was thinking about before she asked for it.
Which was rude.
Other people’s music was harder.
Crowds hurt.
Subways were terrible.
Too many songs.
Too many feelings.
Too many everythings.
Sometimes she loved it.
Because some people sounded beautiful.
A laughing kid sounded like bells.
An old lady at the park sounded warm and sleepy like a cello.
Birds made tiny little harmonies if you listened hard enough.
Rain had rhythm.
Wind hummed.
The whole world was music.
But sometimes—
Sometimes she hated it.
Because lonely songs hurt.
Sad songs hurt worse.
Angry songs were sharp.
And tired songs—
Tired songs made her chest ache.
Mom’s had sounded tired a lot lately.
That scared her.
Not enough to say anything.
Just enough to listen harder.
Still...
This was hers.
Her secret.
Her gift.
Her curse.
Mostly annoying.
Sometimes beautiful.
Always there.
She told no one.
Not Mom.
Mom had enough problems.
Not Percy.
He worried too much.
Not Sophia.
Sophia would ask approximately eight hundred questions and probably make charts.
Not even Illios.
She couldn't burden him with this.
Then kindergarten happened. And suddenly, the music mattered.