******

    Curls  waited for her turn for the greasy, unpleasant thing she had heard Deimos call food. Chomping on the grey substance, she felt like dumping this tray all over the gods for making them eat this. She felt sad and angry, that this was the only food she would ever taste. Like Phobos read her mind, he leaned over and whispered in her air: "If only you could taste ambrosia...", with a devilish smirk. The urge to dump the remainings of the tray over his head intensified. She ate the remaining of the food in silence, with her little swirl of thoughts.

    At night, she had time to think. Hecate had yet to pick the next victim of her wrath, so the cells were quiet. Well, as quiet as it can get when you share a cell with seven other people. Curls thought about everything that had happened over the day. The majority of the day was spent cleaning out Deimos's bathroom. She scrunched her nose, remembering the smell of his room,  even though she knew she probably smelled worse. It was strange, his room smelling bad, as he had hundreds of humans to clean out his room. She remembered that her shower time was in a week. Curls shuddered at the thought of cold water all over her body. Still, she was thankful for the showers. The water would wash away the heavy stench of sweat, the dirt from working, Deimos's filthy mark on her body. She remembered, felt the hand sliding below her breast. Swallowing hard, she fought for the memory to go away. Deimos creeping up on her, sliding his hand in...

   Curls was breathing heavily, and she felt a single tear fall from her right eye. She was tired of them controlling her, tired of the countless memories creeping up on her whenever she was alone. A hand was always there. Not to help her up, but to wrap around her neck and suffocate her. She tried thinking back to happy memories. The watery eyes smiled now, remembering her friend. He had been taken away last year, when he turned eighteen. Another thing the gods had taken away from her.

   Then a thought blossomed in her head. What if?... She felt the excitement radiating from her, warning everyone the mischievous girl had come up with yet another thing. Before you turned eighteen, you were nameless, no one. It depended on your master, but most of them named their slaves or at least marked them. No human under eighteen had ever had a name.  She could have a name! Her brain worked and worked, trying to find something she could call herself. All her life she was Curls. Whenever someone was searching for her, which didn't happen often, she'd be called Curls.

Ambrosia!

  Deimos had mentioned that word that day, the food for the gods.  She felt the name on the tip of her tongue, and she sounded it out. A-M-B-R-O-S-I-A. It felt nice, to have a real identity. She singed, whispered, repeated the name all over again. She felt happy. She felt like her life was not so meaningless anymore. 

Ambrosia.

*****

2 years Later

Ambrosia had her eyes wide open since the break of dawn. It was the arena day, the worst day of the year. Ambrosia had three more years to live, but there were souls unfortunate enough to be eighteen on the reaping day. Ambrosia reached over to the next bed and nudged the blonde girl lightly. The unwritten rule of the cells - if you wake up first, it's your responsibility to wake up the others. The girl stirred and opened her eyes. Her gray eyes stared at Ambrosia for a second before she kicked the boy next to her in the ribs. The boy groaned and turned over. People fumbled around, waking up others and getting ready for the day. Ambrosia scooted over to the crib-like structure and held the one-year-old in her hands. The boy had just said his first words. As the oldest, she felt responsible for all the others. The oldest after her had just turned fourteen, and Ambrosia knew he'd make a great replacement when she turned eighteen. That was still in the far future, but when you never know when you can be killed, it's always good to know who you can leave in charge.  Ambrosia cradled the baby in her arms, singing him a lullaby written by the cellmates to keep him quiet. She smiled at the baby and wondered which god he'd end up with. She was hoping he'd go to Nike, as she was known for treating her slaves better than anyone else. The tales went around the cells, how Nike had rescued a hundred slaves from the vilest god, Ares. Ambrosia, personally, had always wanted to be won by Hermes, but she could settle for Nike too. Considering she only knew the twelve Olympians, she didn't have much of a choice. She was sure she'd rather die than be a slave of Ares or Zeus. She had heard stories far too gruesome to make her want to be with them. Even though she knew pain would follow everywhere she went, Ares and Zeus would make her wish she had killed herself when she had time.

She put the boy back in his crib and sat on her mattress. Blowing air out of her nose, she waited for the bell to ring. Today was special - they got to stay in at their cells. Disobeying would have dire consequences, meaning you'd be taken to the arena if caught outside your cell. That had never happened, according to Phobos. The baby suddenly started crying,  wailing at the top of his lungs. Ambrosia quickly scurried over and held the baby, lulling him to sleep. The boy was clutching his only toy,  a handmade rag doll from a rip of Ambrosia's blanket. The baby held it in his arms, and out of nowhere, threw it outside the cell doors. Ambrosia yelped and reached over, but a grim realization struck her in the face: The toy was on the other side of the cell, and going out there, meant death.  The baby started crying louder and louder, his face turning blue. The other kids looked at her, and she knew if the baby didn't stop soon they'd all be in trouble. Tears started welling up in her eyes. Ambrosia handed the shrieking baby to a brunette boy and neared the cell doors.  She hesitated, but the baby screeched and some cellmates started crying. "Nobody will see you. Everybody's out on the arena", she muttered to herself, but deep inside she knew she was just lying to herself. Ambrosia kicked the door with her foot, and it swung open. Not having time to hesitate, she jumped out in the hallway. She heard the other cellmates yell out of surprise, but her ears were plugged. She was breathing heavily now, hearing people hold their breath and some cry. She located the rag doll out of the corner of her eye and descended towards it. She grabbed the rag doll, turned around, and bumped straight into a chest. She fell back on the impact, hitting her head on the floor. Tasting blood on her bottom lip, she knew it was busted.

Her eyesight blurred, but she still saw them. Deimos and Phobos, standing over her with their eyes spitting fire, ready to rip her body in half. She tried to stand up, but the headache was too strong. Tears started falling from her eyes. Ambrosia crawled back, pushed up against the wall, and started begging, "Please don't, I'll do whatever you want, don't take me to the arena, no, no, no! Please, I beg you!" The tears started falling harder, staining her cheeks, raining down on her clothes. Deimos stood on his one knee, brought the other up, and kicked her in the head.

Ambrosia's head snapped back. The whole cell went silent. Deimos stood up, motioned to Phobos to pick her up. Phobos lifted her roughly, slung her over his shoulder, and then, if they weren't ever there, disappeared into thin air.

The whole cell was silent. A few sobs sounded. 

All that was left of her was a rag doll on the cement floor.

****

:( Not gonna lie, this made me sad. How are you liking the new version of the story? If anyone who has read the previous version, is this better?

(I got the idea of putting gifs at the end of the chapter from Tricia, the author of the book this is fanfiction for.)

Our malicious twins on the gif :))

Love,

Talia