I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm

And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold

Imogen stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face cut from stone as she tightened her ponytail. Her makeup looked more like war paint the more she stared it down, half tempted to scrub it all off if one more person made a comment regarding it. Her hand crept towards the wipes on the rim of the sink, but her hand fell to her side.

She wasn't about to give them the benefit of the doubt. They wouldn't dare tamper with her in the mood she was in.

The daughter of Cupid pulled her gauntlets over her hands, tightening the straps around her wrists. Her Imperial gold quiver hung across her back, the heads of the arrows glinting wickedly in the artificial light of her bathroom. Romeo, her bow, rested against the wall at her side.

Imogen tilted her head to the side, her jade gaze fixated on the reflection of her arrows. She reached back, plucking one from the quiver and holding it delicately in her hands.

Crafted of Imperial gold, her arrows were lethal to monsters and any other figure of mythology that dared interfere with her. She'd fired more arrows in her lifetime than she could count, but given the circumstances, she was ready to shoot a lot more.

Imogen held the arrow vertical: tail to the ground, golden tip and shaft dividing her face in half as she looked back in the mirror. She might be a pretty face, she might be flirtatious, but there was one thing to be reinforced.

She was a centurion of Rome, a daughter of Cupid, and the best archer Camp Jupiter had seen in decades. Friends and enemies alike, beware.

My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones

It keeps my veins hot, the fires found a home in me

Nova Brooks leant against the doorway of Camp Half-Blood's forges, reveling in the sounds of hammers against bronze, fires flickering in the distance. Her half-siblings, among others, had been slaving away over arming the valley. War was imminent, and they needed to be ready.

Nova spotted her twin brother, Calum, fiddling with some sort of contraption nearby. Rather than interrupt his tinkering, the daughter of Hephaestus pushed herself off the doorframe, swaggering between work tables and racks of completed weapons. She dodged a red-hot slab of Celestial bronze as a boy carried it towards a forge, resting against the wall by an unused pocket of flame.

Quirking an eyebrow, Nova stared into the unused forge, at the tiny flames lining the miniature cavern. She could feel their hum in her veins, each flicker of a flame a beat in her heart. She hadn't used her power in so long, hadn't had a reason to. But war was on the horizon, and just as Tessa could control water, Dale could control earth, she could control flame.

A wildfire rested in her heart, waiting to be unleashed on anyone who dared harm her friends, her second home. The blood pumping through her veins was as bright as a bonfire, as unrelenting as a blazing inferno.

Nova shifted, bringing her hand before her face. Tiny scars lined her fingers, yet her nails were polished to a tee. A bracelet Calum had given her sat on her wrist. The hum within Nova's bones grew louder as she honed her concentration on her mocha skin.

A wreath of ghostly flames crept ignited around her closed fist. White-hot flames ringed with blue, hotter and deadlier than any blaze their enemies could ignite. She would become flame and light and battle incarnate.

The fire in the forge burned brighter as Nova stormed off.

I move through town, I'm quiet like a fight

And my necklace is of rope, I tie and untie it.

New Rome was silent in the dark of night, seemingly abandoned as the stars held reign above the city. Every sane person was in the safety of their homes, sleeping. Sophia Ransom wished she could be one of them. What she wouldn't give for some rest right about now.

But her duty was more important than rest. It wouldn't be wise to let up on her battle when her friends needed her, needed what she could contribute.

Sophia stalked down the cobblestone paths, glancing left and right with a casual hand on the hilt of her sword. She was on night patrol near the city's center, and with that title came a sort of nocturnal power Sophia only wanted more of.

The daughter of Athena continued her path, breathing in the brisk winter breeze. It was a mild night, but that didn't stop the chill from seeping into her skin beneath her jacket. She turned the anger she had towards the cold into determination.

There was a second in her life where she was angered to be a daughter of Athena, lacking any supernatural powers or abilities that could aid her on the battlefield. She'd become skilled at various weapons, excelled in creating strategies, but felt as if she was missing something. It didn't help that her nemesis at the time could control the tides with a single look, or that her friends could summon light, turn invisible, create vines, or persuade just about anyone into doing anything.

Sophia stopped in her tracks, lost in thought. If only she knew when she was young that her intellect was her power. Her strategies saved lives, her cabin represented the wisdom that burned like an immortal flame throughout all time. Wars were fought with weapons, but they were won by those wise enough to set up a gameplan.

She'd spent too many moments of her life jealous of those around her. She'd spent too many sleepless nights cursing her mother's name, when really, Athena had given her a gift that she'd honed like a dagger.

Sophia's walk turned into a prowl. She dared something to step out of the shadows; her true secret weapon was hidden in her mind.

And now people talk to me, but nothing ever hits home

People talk to me but their voices just burn holes

I'm Done with It