I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET HIM GO.

As I hammered his chest with my scarlet painted, bruised hands, I vaguely heard a high pitch cry of pain. His piercing blue eyes, normally so alive and full of movement, were stale and fractured. His shirt was stained purplish red, a reminder. Die a Roman, Michael Varus had said. Now the Roman colour of purple was splashed across his shirt.

A second passed. Ten seconds pass. The ringing in my ears cleared and I realised the high pitched whine was coming from my own throat, slowly being constricted by reality.

When I saw his body unmoving on the beach, it was a deja vu moment back to the time we were on Odysseus's island.

When the stupid excuse of a ghost stabbed him.

When we were still a thing.

Except at that time, we had the Argo II. We had Annabeth. We had Leo. We could heal him. We had each other.

Then we broke up, because our love had been based on a lie.

How could a relationship based on nothing be anything?

I still remembered Aphrodite's words. "You see what could be. And it might still be -- don't give up."

I had heard it. I had thought we could pull through anything. Yet we parted ways officially after that horrendous maze.

Stupid Medea and her idiotic maze.

We clearly were not meant to be if we could not pull through - and I had broken up with him even before the maze.

But yet when it came down to this, I broke down and wailed like a little girl from Malibu.

I remembered the last time Jason had came so close to death. Actually, the last two times. Once when the cow goddess Hera turned into pure light and almost killed him, and the second when Jason was stabbed by a former legionnaire, Michael Varus.

Ugh, the latter was cold, frozen, and disgusting.

I tried to remember the previous emotion I had of desperation, when Jason had looked while Hera turned nuclear.

But the hole in his chest, the gaping hole where his chest was, where the wretched Caligula had stabbed him.

I sobbed over Jason's body, whispering desperately, "You can't do this. You can't die on me." Apollo was looking away from me, embarrased and helpless, after I had yelled at him to save him somehow.

“He’s gone through too much to die now, like that.” I had said.

"Jason," Now my voice was shaky, unlike my voice last time, I was unsure of myself, because I had seen him stabbed twice.

I tried to pull on my former strength, my anger against Hera, calling him from the depths of the Underworld. "Wake up."

I knew my charmspeak was not strong then. I knew even if I brought him back he would probably return because of his darned nobleness, and because his body was in such a bad state.

But he had healed the last time, I told myself. He had survived. I closed my eyes and opened it, as if waiting for him to burst alive, saying," Surprise!"

No magic happened. No light came out of his eyes like the last time. No gasp of breath. No tug of the soul. Nothing.

Nothing.

Meg walked over, silent, and placed two fingers over his eyes. She slid her fingers down and his eyelids shut.

His eyes were lidded by his flawed eye lids, that separated him from me.

He was in Elysium and I was here, alone.

I thought I did not love him anymore. Clearly, I was wrong. I still cared for him, somewhere in my heart. It was not a complete lie by Hera, our relationship.

But it did not matter anyways.

Just like the prophecy he failed to tell me at first.

Three letters, starting with a 'D'

Now four letters, starting and ending with a 'D'.