001───────ஐ〰ฺ･:*:･✿the sun, the sea, the wind

  THERE'S SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL ABOUT SEEING THE SEA FROM THIS ANGLE. Usually, she is toe-deep in sand, ankles drowning in ultramarine aqua. Sand would stick in-between her toes as if it couldn't tear itself away; later, she would spend hours trying to pull away every last grain. (But despite this, she returned to the sea, naive excitement and childish gaiety rooted deep in her heart .) 

  Sometimes, as when her soul was young and untainted (and this was many, many years ago, before loss, before pain) she would climb up the treacherous cliffs — white chalk staining her fingers and feet, the wind blowing through her hair. The sun would be hidden; the clouds determined to mask their temperate antithesis.  

  This time, the sea is neither speckled with white dots and scars, nor turquoise perfection against a sun-kissed shore. No sun reflects and refracts through the cool water. No, the sea is blue — cobalt, azure, sky blue — all blending, merging together until all she can see is blue. She can feel it too; she can feel the blue wind blowing on her face; the blue taste of salt and sea and saline steam burns her tongue. How can you taste the sea? How can you drown in it, miles above? 

  The man above her shouts a warning; his face scarred with fear, marred with terror for the girl below him. She cannot hear him; she is a bird, and she can see the sea — now she is drunk on salt and sky. 

  He yells again; and this time she heeds his warning, twisting to turn to look at him, confusion burning trails of ash through her mind. Her eyes furrow; her body reacts as if she knows him, loves him — but who is he? She doesn't recognise him, but his eyes are a mirror of someone she knows — who? Grey streaks line his hair to match his ashen eyes, a beard streaked with grease and oil, hands red and raw; from crafting, perhaps? 

  But then the wind takes her body, and all thought of the anxious man is forgotten. What need does she have of worry and fear, when she can be free? She spreads her wings — wings, feathers that don't match her body, wax that does not seem to fit — is she a not a bird? She feels like one. She has become one. 

  The wind lifts her, and she laughs, elated. She has done many lovely things during her lifetimes; she has seen the world (a fraction, but it felt large enough to be everything), she has lived and laughed and loved, and yet nothing matches the joy as she floats, drifting along the breeze. The wind is strong; she does not need to work to move, no need to flap her wings. If this is what flying is, she could live in the sky forever. 

  She looks back at the sea; is it getting smaller? It is not any shade of blue now, just plain blue, dark blue. From here it looks shadowy— not the turquoise paradise she imagined before. She would not like to swim here. She is a sky-child, not a sea-girl. 

  The sun burns her back; a burning inferno of fire and flame, searing through her clothes until she can feel hot liquid running, burning her — she curses, then blushes.  (she has never been a potty-mouth, and she does not intend to become one. Her father would not allow her in the house if she ever let a foul word slip out her lips. If he knew. )

  She turns toward the sun in betrayal, tilting her head back, golden strands flying behind her in a cloak, a gown, a veil. Forget Rapunzel; her hair is flaxen straw, infused with magic that could put the princess to shame. Her hair burns, fire sparks and she lets a gasp out her mouth, before another laugh — oh, the sun is playing with her ! 

  And then the wind stops supporting her, giving to her shining enemy, betraying the girl who thought they were playing. The wind releases the once sky-child, and allows her to fall. The navy blue sea laughs at the gift the sky has given it, and prepares its waters to steal a golden haired child from the wind. 

  And as she falls, she remembers that she is not a sky-girl or a sea-born, she is an earth-maker, and this is not her body. This is not her.

  Her eyes meet the once-grey, panicked eyes of the inventor above her — and for a moment, she sees the seaweed green irises of Percy Jackson as she falls toward the rock-hard sea. 

☆━━━━━━icarus━━━━━☆

  FLOWER'S SPRING FROM THE EARTH WHERE HER FINGERS TOUCH IT; ROSES AND DAISIES AND LILIES ALIKE.

  She's always adored daisies the most. They're harmless, delicate and quite boring (a little like her). But when she grows many, many fields of them — thousands upon thousands — they form an almost endless sea of white petal and yellow. Roses are alright, she concedes after a moments debate. They're boring, tedious, dull; everybody always desires a rose. Red for passion, white for innocene; Lila's rose colour is yellow, for joy. (though some people say yellow is the devil's flower-colour.) 

She despises lilies, though. The name Lila has many meanings.Night, or dark beauty to name a few. See, those are interesting meanings. But not what was intended; according to her father, Lila means 'Lily' in Greek. Why would he choose that, when he could have named her something interesting? Her entire name is one mess of flower imagery, and she hates it.

Lila has a creator's hands; but not like a child of Hephaestus or Athena, whose oil-stained, rough fingers are made for mechanics and ink. No, her hands are gentle and soft, delicate and smooth, with an artist's touch. Once, Lila's cousin joked that Lila had been carved from clay, mounded and carved until she was as smooth and doll-like as any child. Lila thinks that the joke was in bad taste, considering Prometheus is real (though her cousin didn't know that, of course). 

  "Juniper was looking for you," Willow tells Lila, appearing behind her, stepping out of the grassy foliage effortlessly. Willow is tall and willowy — much like her namesake, her hair falling in waves down her back. Her face is aloof and cold; she once confided in Lila that she has a dislike of demigods and satyrs (she doesn't distinguish between the two, which is strange as there is a very visible difference). But Lila is simply so un-godly and so human-like that Willow can tolerate her.

  Lila jerks to the side, almost crushing her plants in surprise Hastily, she checks that none of the stalks have snapped from her clumsy fall. ( Well, she doesn't care if the lilies die. )She didn't hear Willow coming; the dryad has an irritating habit of appearing from of trees. "Oh, you scared me."

  Willow rolls her eyes, uncaring, though her eyes are warm. Lila can never work out how old Willow is; she isn't like Juniper, who seems eternally petite and youthful. Willow's face is aged, but it's also so immortal. It does not seem to stay still, both young and old, pleasant and cruel at the same time. "Don't you have something better to do? Strawberries to grow?"

  Lila shrugs, eyeing her own personal garden. It's hidden deep within the woods, somewhere nobody can find it — Willow helped her find a place when she first came to camp. It's not that she doesn't love helping to grow the strawberries with her siblings (well, she doesn't, it's dreadfully boring) but they all have their own tiny personal gardens inside Demeter's Cabin. Since Lila remains unclaimed, there's not enough space for her to make one inside the Hermes Cabin. Her siblings are kind enough to her, but she knows that an unspoken question runs through their minds every time they look at her. Why hasn't mother claimed her?

  Lila wishes she knew.

  "It's looking good, isn't it?" She shows her friend, and Willow surveys the area haughtily, blooming bunches of red, yellow, orange and pink at every corner. "It's pretty."

  "Looked better in May," Willow tells her, and Lila is unable to stop herself from smiling. Willow is awful at giving compliments; she might as well have told Lila that it's the best garden she's ever seen. "Aren't you going to find Juniper? The hearing, remember?"

  Lila gasps, remembering. She'd forgotten about Grover's hearing. For months he's been searching for Pan, convinced he'd heard the god's voice. Now, the Council of Cloven Elder's has lost patience. Not that they had much to begin with; it's as if they don't want the god found.

  (Honestly, that wouldn't surprise her, for the Council has always seemed rather corrupt and self-centred, with no regard for nature — as they claim — or for the satyrs and dryad they represent. However, they are Elders — whatever that means — and disrespect to them is not tolerated, so Lila never speaks up.)

  Willow drags Lila through a grove of willow trees (ironically) and into a glade filled with wildflowers. Violet and blue cover the ground like a blanket surrounding a circle, while three satyrs sit in the centre. Annabeth, Juniper and Clarisse are already there, waiting with Grover.

  "I thought you'd forgotten," Annabeth raises an eyebrow. Her blonde hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, her ashen eyes hard and unforgiving. Annabeth Chase is an enigma; she's cold and clever and calculating, yet as warm and as loyal a person as there ever has been. Once, Lila feared her — now, Lila loves her. 

  "Of course not," Lila says indignantly, as Willow lets out a sarcastic laugh, before disappearing back into the trees. Willow isn't really the talkative type; the dryad hates attention, and crowds. She only comes to Lila when they're alone; and she only talks to Juniper, besides her.

  Lila isn't really sure what she thinks about satyrs. Some of them are horribly disrespectful toward women (especially toward dryads) but some are kind to her, like Grover. He's awed by her flower powers, which is always nice for her ego when she's feeling down. Though, Grover may be the exception; he himself is the type of person who would rather run away from a girl, rather than chase after them. Perhaps that's why he's one of the only satyrs who has managed to woo a dryad.

  Clarisse nods to the council behind Lila, her expression sour. "They really took the "old" from Cloven Elders very literally, didn't they?"

  Juniper giggles sweetly, and Lila suppresses a grin, biting her lip, hard. Clarisse is hilarious at the best of times, and murderous at the worst. She's great to have on your team in Capture the Flag, but she's a terrible enemy ( as she is to most of the camp). But Lila likes her; she's the one who taught Lila how to fight, after all. Without her, Lila would be a demigod skewer by now, three times over.

  Chiron canters into the clearing, a familiar sea-green eyed demigod atop his back. Lila blushes; she's had a tiny crush on the dark-haired boy ever since she met him last winter. Who wouldn't? He's the most powerful demigod at camp, and yet he's still kind to her, despite her being such a nobody. Sometimes, when she talks to him, she feels like he's the only person who understands what it's like, to feel so lost and alone. Stop blushing, Lila. Don't be embarrassing.

  "Punk," Clarisse mutters, glaring at Percy, all trace of humour gone. She's in a good mood today, then. She didn't attack him. Lila pats her arm consolingly, rather amused as she smiles at Percy as sweetly as she can while trying not to blush. It's too many things at once; she feels, and looks stupid, she's sure. 

  "It's going terribly," Juniper sniffs, green tears blossoming on her cheeks. Annabeth places her arm around her kindly, and Juniper dabs her wet eyes with a handkerchief.

  "No, no," Annabeth pats her shoulder, looking a little awkward; Lila holds back a giggle at the sight. Neither of them know how to stop Juniper from crying; the dryad is soft-spoken and sweet, but she feels things so deeply. Every time the council insults Grover (which is a lot) they might as well be insulting Juniper. "He'll be fine, Juniper."

  "Master Underwood!" One of the council member's shouts, as Grover closes his mouth, defeated. "Do you seriously expect us to believe this?"

  "B-but Silenus," Grover stammers, casting a nervous glance back at their group. Lila tries to smile encouragingly; it doesn't have much effect. "It's the truth!"

  "Master Underwood, for six months — six months — we have been hearing these scandalous claims that you heard the wild god Pan speak."

  "But I did!" Grover protests, and Lila winces internally. Part of her — the open-minded part — can see their point. If someone told her they'd heard Demeter speaking inside their mind, she'd be a little skeptical. But Grover did hear this voice; she knows because she can feel the wild (wild-what? she doesn't know) inside her getting stronger every-time she's near the satyr. But how to explain that? She can't, and so she doesn't. Annabeth suspects, though; her sixth sense allows her to read minds — that's what Lila suspects, anyway. How else can she know everything?

  "Impudence."

  "Now, Maron," Chiron says calmly, tail swishing. "Patience."

  "Patience, indeed!" Maron snaps, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "I've had it up to my horns with this nonsense. As if the wild god would speak to... to him."

  Juniper lunges forward; Annabeth and Clarisse try to hold her back, though Annabeth can't stop the anger showing in her eyes, sending chills down Lila's spine. "Wrong fight, girlie," Clarisse mutters. "Wait."

  "For six months," Silenus says, his mouth twisting downward as he surveys the poor satyr in front of him. "We have indulged you, Master Underwood. We let you travel. We allowed you to keep your searcher's license. And what have you found in six months of travel?"

  "I just need more time — "

  "Nothing! You have found nothing."

  "Neither have they!" Juniper mutters indignantly, green eyes flashing. "What have they done in the search for Pan?"

  "But, Leneus — " Grover begins, but another satyr raises his hand, imperious. He acts like a king; yet he sits there like nothing more than a fading old goat.

  Chiron leans in, arguing slightly with them. They frown, shaking their heads furiously at him, their hooves hitting the ground harshly. Every time they speak, Grover flinches, looking gradually more terrified, until Lila is sure he is about to fade into non-existence.

  Eventually Silenus sighs in defeat, turning to Grover with an eye-roll that fails to have much effect. Lila holds her breath in anticipation. He can't lose his searcher's license; it's everything to him. "Master Underwood," he announces, a slight sneer in his words. He looks rather satisfied as he stares down at the younger satyr. "We will give you one more chance."

  Lila releases a breath. "Thank you!" Grover gasps, elation in his words and joy in his eyes. He looks so relieved; he clearly feared the worst. So did she.

  "One more week."

  "What?" And just like that, the relief is gone, with the air from her lungs. "But sir, that's impossible!"

  "One more week, Master Underwood. And then, if you cannot prove your claims, it will be time for you to pursue another career. Something to suit your dramatic talents. Puppet theater, perhaps. Or tap dancing." Silenus smiles mockingly, spiteful. Puppet theater? Is he joking?

  "But sir — I — I can't lose my Searcher's License. My whole life — "

   "The meeting of the council is adjourned!" Silenus interrupts, casting him a dirty glance, clearly wishing he'd stop talking. "And now let us enjoy our noonday meal!"

  He claps his hands, and nymphs pour from the trees, carrying dozens of vegetables and tin cans. Lila waves to one of the dryads she recognises — Ash, perhaps. Clarisse slaps her hand down with a deadly glare. "Don't wave at them!"

  "Hi Percy," Grover mutters, turning to Percy, who was standing beside Annabeth. Lila blushes again, unwillingly; she'd been trying hard to ignore Percy's presence, seeing as she can't seem to stop making a fool of herself in front of him. "That went well, huh?"

  "Those old goats!" Juniper half-whispers, her fists clenching. "Oh, Grover, they don't know how hard you've tried!"

  "There is another option," Clarisse suggests, her face darkening. Lila can't really understand the girl; does she want to go into the labyrinth? Or is she simply trying to help Grover? Forget Annabeth — Clarisse is even harder to read. Not that Lila is the best judge of character; she has a tendency to see what she wants to see.

  "No, no, I won't let you." Juniper says, crossing her arms with a glare.

  Percy's nose scrunches in confusion; he looks cute. Aquamarine eyes bore into Lila's soul as he meets her own, sapphire meeting emerald. Then he tears his eyes away, addressing the rest of the group. "What are you talking about?"

  A conch shell sounds in the distance, and Lila deflates a little. She hates inspection; her cabin always comes last. Unless the Hephaestus kids cause some mess with one of their inventions; then her cabin will probably come second-to-last. (Or the Hermes kids mess up another cabin on purpose, which is against the rules — so naturally happens almost every day.)

  "We'll fill you in later. Inspection is starting," Annabeth tells him, before hurrying off. Some of the Athena kids are scatterbrained and absentminded, always thinking, never organised. The others are neat and pristine, perfectionists like Annabeth. Athena's Cabin never comes last, mostly due to their meticulous counselor.

  Clarisse, Grover, and Juniper quickly hurry to their own cabins, Clarisse shouting orders and sounding a little like a general in an army, while Juniper hugs Grover comfortingly.

  "So," Lila smiles at Percy, her eyes noticing the way he seems to have grown five inches over the spring and summer, and the new, casual way he stands. He looks good; what once was awkward cuteness has become some kind of confident aura, surrounding him. "How have you been?"

  "Good," Percy says, and her eyes widen as she notices how much deeper his voice has gotten. While she hasn't changed a bit since he last saw her. "I got attacked." He says it casually, and Lila is unable to suppress a giggle at his tired tone. He doesn't sound worried, or angry; just bored of it. She supposes it must be usual for him.

  "That doesn't sound good."

  "Well," he gazes into nothing for a moment, thinking. "It had it's moments." He turns to her, and his eyes seem to rake up and down her figure, before he notices what he's doing and turns away, blushing slightly. Lila blushes in return, awkwardly coughing. "You've got some grass in your hair."

  A common occurrence; Lila has the sort of static-electric hair that seems to attract everything; grass, dust — it all falls in clouds onto her hair until she barely notices anymore. "Oh," she blushes deeper red, swatting at her hair with an expression of annoyance. "Sorry."

  "Why are you apologising?" He chuckles, smiling slightly at her. Her heart skips a beat; she smiles shyly back. "Oh, you missed it."

  "Really?" Lila raises her eyebrows at him — she's pretty sure her hair must look like a rats nest now, since she's messed up all of it trying to remove the grass.

  "Here, let me help," he leans forward, delicately pulling some greenery from her golden strands and throwing it to the ground. "There."

  "Thanks," she murmurs, blushing.

  They reach the commons area, to see each cabin messy in it's own way. Athena's cabin is silent, perfectly pristine and tidy, while Apollo's beside it is a disorganised huddle of archers and poets screaming at each other, while still somehow tidying up rather fast. Percy casts a jealous look at the Demeter Cabin, where honeysuckles are sprouting over the doorway, and daisies over the roof. "Aren't you going to join them?" He asks, confused, as Lila makes no move.

  Lila loos down at the ground, biting her lip in embarrassment. It's humiliating to admit that Demeter still hasn't claimed her, when Percy was claimed almost immediately by his father when he first came to camp.

  "Oh, Demeter hasn't claimed you yet?" He says quickly, catching on remarkably fast without her saying a thing. "Why not?"

  "Wish I knew," Lila says, forcing a smile onto her face and shaking off her melancholic mood. She widens her smile, meeting Percy's eyes; he raises an eyebrow at her, not convinced.

  She spots the Hermes Cabin — a mess, as per usual. "Oh, I've got to go. Say hi to Tyson for me."

  "Wait, I didn't mean —"

  Lila is already hurrying away, her attention captured by the two twins arguing in front of the Hermes Cabin. "What's going on?"

  The ground outside of Cabin Eleven is blanketed by a layer of dirty laundry, so much that Lila can barely tell that there's a floor under all that. Inside, she can see all the occupants darting around, shoving clothes under their beds in a hurry. "He stole my underwear," Travis tells her, elbowing Connor in the stomach. "Ass-h — "

  "Why would I want your underwear?" Connor snaps back loudly, his voice echoing over the grounds.

  Demeter, please claim me soon, she prays to the goddess. I don't think I can handle another two years of this.

  Julia Feingold bursts into peals of hysterical laughter as a few of the girls in Cabin Ten (Aphrodite) raise their eyebrows at Connor and Travis, looking disgusted. "You're both idiots!"

  "Can't you clean this up?" Lila whines, her voice taking on a prepubescent quality. "I don't want to wash dishes again." (The punishment, for last in inspection.)

  "It's fine," Travis waves a casual hand, making no move to try picking anything up. "At least there are lots of us — " an understatement — "—not like Percy, having to clean up after everybody, alone."

  "He's got Tyson," Julia points out, grinning in anticipation for her next words. "He probably does most of the work. Not like our counselors, who do nothing."

  Connor throws dirty laundry at her; Julia throws some back, and suddenly half the Hermes kids are wrestling and trying to asphyxiate each other with the nauseating scent of unwashed clothes. The other half are clutching their stomachs, aching with laughter. Well, the cabin certainly isn't getting cleaned today. Hopefully the Hephaestus Cabin is worse.

  Lila rolls her eyes, raising her eyes to the sky as she bites back a smile of her own. "Lady Demeter, please!" 

a/n: 

me yesterday : let's just write a short opening chapter, about 1000 words 

me today, reading what i wrote yesterday : :/

anyWAY this chapter was weird, so much prose !!! nothing happened !!! like at all. we love 4000 words of pure rubbish lmao. whatever. anyway i didn't see the point of dragging it out, so this starts partway through tbotl which is fine. at the beginning of each chapter there's going to be a reference to a myth (or part of a myth) which is basically what she's dreaming (or what she's already dreamt) . the myths will all relate to the main story !! i'm proud how i worked this out so we'll go with it, even though it's like 600 words of weird-ness . 

i'm going to write the second chapter, and then i'm going back to my updating schedule because violent end has been abandoned for this lol. thank you for reading though ! <33

lyra x