It all seemed so mundane, surreal. It was like she was watching the events play out in a film. Scripted words and camera angles telling the story of her sorrow. It just didn't feel real.

It felt like a story, a myth like one of those she had relied on her entire life. She felt like nothing was ever up to her, that the fates had wrote out every detail of her existence before she could even think. It was tragedy after tragedy, the major heartbreak, it all sounded like a horrible soap opera.

She felt used, molded like clay, bendable. It was like everyone else had more control over her life than she did. She had tried to retain control of her achievements, anything that had really mattered but it was gone in the wind, nothing felt like it mattered anymore in her life set in stone.

It's said that everything happens for a reason. Anyone who ever uttered those words don't know loss, they don't know the feeling of being a prop in these stories. They haven't walked so close to the edge that the looked over the peak into the endless void, past the point of no return, and considered leaping over.

She had come too close too many times.

She couldn't let herself hope, hope that things could get better, she would just fall harder. It seemed like every time she hit the ground it got worse and worse. Almost like she never fully  healed from the last fall, they kept piling on. She was weighed down by the world falling on her shoulders, she wasn't used to carrying it alone, it was to much.

I guess you never know how strong you are until being strong is all you have.

She was weak.

Why did she feel like she would fall any moment, collapse any moment from the weight of the sky. She had held the sky, the literal weight of the world on her shoulders and yet this felt even more taxing. She would take the world again in a heartbeat.

It seemed that her greatest strength was her most significant weakness.

He held her up, when he left she fell. She is still falling, unable to get a hold on herself, on what made her herself. It seemed that everything he did complemented her strength and tore away her flaws. Now it was like everything he did for her, the strength her gave her disappeared. Her legs were buckling under the weight of the sky, the ground had opened beneath her and she was hanging off the edge.

She didn't want to fall, but sometimes it was tempting.

It was so tempting at times to give in, let go, fall to the ground and she was so weak. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she had already fallen. At what point will she officially fall? How could you even tell? Is it just something you decide, life can't get any worse, you've hit the stone floor. Is it something that you feel? A breaking point? Had she snapped?

She was too moldable, bendable. It seemed like her life was the plot of some insane story, the twists and turns, the tragedy, truth and heartbreak making the readers pick apart her life like just another character. She might have already fallen, she might have already released her hold on her last thread of sanity, the ground could have already opened up beneath her. It might not have as well. How far could she bend until she broke?

She didn't think any of these questions really mattered though. What mattered is the question on if she could stand again, stand tall against the cold wind of the endless void.

It's said that you don't realize your strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness.

It's also said that that having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.

Truth be told she didn't know what to think anymore. Was she broken? Was she weak? Why did she takes to heart these keen phrases, these words that others have spoken, people she doesn't even know. On one end people say that crying isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of trying to hard for too long. On the other end the anonymous crowd types behind a screen that silence is the loudest scream.

All of this was inside her mind, the argument of on if she was strong or weak, hitting rock bottom or standing tall. These metaphorical lines scream at each other trying to decipher what shes feeling into words. These thoughts and periodical words of wisdom try to calm her rampaging feelings.

It was to mundane, surreal. A storyline.

She gazed at him from across the table.

He was taller. Of course that was the first thing she noticed. Back at camp he had yet to breach 6 feet and now he towered over over 5 foot 9 form. The 15 years had done him well, no longer the saddened acne barer teenager. His jawline was chiseled and defined, his black unruly hair combed back so it framed his face.

His eyes though... they changed the most.

They were still the piercing blue, they still were like an explosion of color onto his face, yet they were different. They seemed guarded now, 15 years ago they seemed almost innocent, driven, now they were.... nothing. No emotion showed on his face, it was completely impassive. When he had first walked through the living room doors she perceived the initial shock and then it was gone, his features shut off.

She knew the mask he wore well, she had donned it as well. The stare was blank, features impassive, but she could already tell what he was feeling. If it was anything like the longing, questioning, assuming that was running through her mind, she had a lot of explaining to do.

For now though, the room was bathed in silence. It's said that silence is true wisdom's best reply. Though meaningful silence is better than meaningless words, she wanted to speak, to cry out her faults and her sorrow. Her lips remained in a pursed line, her face impassive as well. She wouldn't no what to say.

Her blond curls fell in ringlets over her face as she turned her gaze to her untouched grilled chicken. She hadn't eaten in approximately 30 hours but she was untouched by the pull of hunger. The sounds of a fork hitting a plate echoed through the large dinning rooms but her body remained still. Her thoughts had run so ramped she hadn't made any movements since they sat down.

She eyed the fork, literally silver, before picking it up hesitantly and letting it sink into the food. She brought a the food to her mouth and let it disappear into mouth, chewing and swallowing. She put the fork back onto the plate and didn't pick it up again, there were to many thoughts, to many feelings, food was out of her interest.

"I suppose we should talk." Her voice pierced through the tense silence, more like a question than a statement. The sounds of the utensils touching the no doubt expensive China ware stopped before the man before her set his fork down. She saw an unreadable expression flash ever so quickly across his vision, but it was gone as soon as it was there.

"Yes, I guess we should." Was the monotone even reply, his emotions were bound up tight. Her eyes still wouldn't meet his, they refused to look up, to see even a hint of anger.

"And I suppose I should give you an explanation of why I'm in your dining room after seeing me 15 years ago." Her voice wavered a bit but she held back the wave of emotions, she refused to cry in front of him. He just nodded in response and her eyes squeezed shut in intense focus, blocking out the urge to get out as fast as she could.

She wanted to run, run as fast as she could, get out of there, she wanted to run from everything. But it's said that anyone can run, it's super easy. Facing problems and working through them, that's what makes you strong. She was so weak, she could run, she could break, she could fall. But she could also stand tall and strong, she could stay and face it.

The only thing you regret is the chances you didn't take.

Silence engulfed the room once more and only then did she look up, tearing herself out of her thoughts. Her grey eyes swirled with her now visible emotion. She couldn't hold it back anymore, didn't want to.

"You seem...different," she commented, her tone uplifting at the end. The locked gazes and it took all of her will power not to shrink back. She held it for a moment before longer until his gaze softened a bit as he analyzed her.

"You as well, " he returned breathaly and her gaze saddened, remembering what it was that had made her this way.

"D-did you ever find the man?" She asked almost nervously, he would know what she was talking about. She didn't want to upset him but the question had edged it's way into her mind.

"Yes," The tone almost made her shrink back. It was somewhere between guarded and aggressive, he obviously wasn't going to elaborate on the subject. Her shoulders slumped and she turned her eyes downcast once more. "How's Luke?"

She bit her lip so hard It almost bled and she swallowed back the unwanted emotions boiling in the back of her throat. It was a moment before she finally met his gaze once more, her grey eyes were a bit harsher.

"Dead."

He opened opened his mouth to speak but swallowed back the reply when he saw the raw heartbreak in her eyes.

"A lot happened after you left, I'm glad you got away when you did, I don't think you would want anyone death." She returned her eyes to her lap and silence filled the room. How could simple silence be so loud?

"What exactly happened?" He asked slowly and with no emotion, yet curiosity. She kept her gaze at her lap this time, not wanting for him to see her so weak.

"War," She answered warily, her tone unsteady. She took a deep breath and repositioned herself on the seat glancing at him nervously before returning her gaze to the floor. "I-if you really want know I'll tell you but your probably better off ignorant."

"Telling a son of Athena that he doesn't want to know something, not the best way to deter a subject, " Was the answer and she let herself show a small amused smile.

She took a deep shaky breath and tried to think of the words to start the tale. She pushed up out of her chair and walked around the table taking the seat next to him. She met his eyes one last time before beginning the painful recollection.

"It started with a new camper, his name was Percy Jackson, the hero of Olympus."

He stayed up with her for hours as she told the story. All of her life a tale, nothing more than another myth. She told him everything, the deaths, the decisions, the guilt, the fear. Taking about the wars wasn't the hardest part, it wasn't even tartarus. It was talking about him, he was there every moment, every hard turn, her best friend. Talking about it didn't make it any better

It had all ended with the young woman in tears and a man hugging her tight to his chest knowing that she had had it worse, she had donned more pain. Soon both of them were exhausted mentally and physically, the question was soon asked.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Bruce asked, his features told you that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I suppose, if It's not any trouble," She responded despondently, her cheeks stained with the tears she had tried so hard to hold back.

Sometimes you don't need a plan. Sometimes you just need to breath, trust, let go and see what happens.

Your choices reflect your hopes not your fears.

Maybe she could lean on someone just a bit.

The plot thickens......

HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!

OK so I don't usually do authors notes in chapter ls but this new year will symbolize change for me. Maybe I'll finally finish Sherlock on Netflix.....

Ok so you should totally comment your new years resolution, I would like to hear them. Just at least try to be creative.

To a new year, may I say THANK THE GODS 2016 IS OVER.

Totally whelmed, this new year will crash the mode! So get truaght.

SEA you later.

Ok ok I'm stopping with the puns....