BLAIRE SULLIVAN WAS DEAD. The daughter of Hecate had bled out onto the trembling hands of a boy she'd only just began to consider a friend. She'd been impaled through the stomach by a non-tangible curse that had been sent by an unknown source, obviously aiming to kill her.

  Blaire was dead— which is why she didn't understand the circumstances of her whereabouts—or, her mental whereabouts. It didn't make any sense whatsoever.

She had died, so why was she in her quaint childhood apartment?

  It was empty, devoid of any life. Something about the small space didn't seem quite right. The radiant aura she remembered it emitting was gone, instead the scarce space seemed so dim and dull. Not at all like she'd recalled.

A thousand pounds of dread nestled itself low into the acidic pits of Blaire's stomach, making itself a home as she looked over the familiar apartment.

She didn't know what she expected, or why she was back in her childhood home, but then again she knew nothing about death or what happened after. Maybe this was her own personal hell. A demented version of the undeworld perhaps.

The apartment that once felt so grand and special now seemed quite opposite. It once filled her with a secure sense of hope and comfort, embracing her in a bout of warmth. However, then it made her frown. Something wasn't right, she thought.

And she was correct; something wasn't right. This was made evident when an unfamiliar woman shimmered into veiw, frowning wistfully as if all she ever knew of was misfortune and tragedy.

The woman looked wrong standing amidst the rundown living room in all her glory. Her auburn hair cascaded in waves down the front of her deep purple cloak, and her sharp features were pulled taut with disappointment. She didn't seem to be very old, but she also radiated wisdom and melancholy that was very clearly millenniums old. Her eyes, which were a startling shade of ruby, gleamed with heady emotion.

She radiated a sort of power that made Blaire want to kneel at her feet, but she fought the urge upon realizing exactly who this woman located before her was.

  Hecate.

  Her mother who had been absent for the past sixteen years.

Her mother who had the power to rearrange constellations if she wished yet refused to use any of this aforementioned power to help Blaire as she lost everything she'd ever cared for.

As if reading her mind, the godess took a weary step forward. "I'm sorry."

"Mo— Hecate."

   She wouldn't refer to the goddess as her mother so long as she could help it. Becasue weren't mothers supposed to guide their children and provide them with a helping hand no matter what? Weren't mothers supposed to show their children unconditional love and support through both thick and thin?

  Hecate had never done that. She didn't deserve the maternal title. In fact, she didn't deserve any title besides the cruel one that was her official Olympian name.

It had been an entire sixteen years and this was the first time Hecate even thought to contact her daughter. After she was dead. Great parenting.

The goddess looked upset, more upset than Blaire who had just died. She was frowning as if she were the one who had just bled out onto an innocent boy's hands.

"Why am I here?" Blaire managed, speaking only one of the seemingly million thoughts on her mind. There was so much she wanted to say, she didn't even know where to start.

"Blaire, you must understand, I wanted to see you. They wouldn't allow it," Hecate told her, her voice practically pleading. Begging the young girl to understand— or at least attempt to understand.

Blaire didn't care if the Goddes wanted to see her. She didn't. Hecate had left the girl alone when she really needed someone.

"I needed you. After dad died—"

"I'm sorry," Hecate rapidly cut her off, unable to bear the tragic truth of her offspring's words. "I wanted to be there for you. I really did."

  Blaire tried to fight the tears welling atop her waterline, but it was impossible. She'd always wished her mother was present in her life— and now being infront of the aforementioned mother, all she wanted to do was shout like an upset little girl.

  That's what she was— afterall. An upset little girl. It's the only thing she'd ever been. And if she was lucky, the only thing she'd ever be.

  "I had nobody. I was alone," The girl cried, shaking her head in a distraught manner. "And you didn't help me."

The goddess put a hand on her tear-stained cheek and Blaire realized she didn't have the energy nor will to shrug it off. The warmth of her mother's hand set the surface of her cheek alight with something akin to familial love. This was all she'd ever dreamt of.

"You're not supposed to exsist. The others— they don't want you to be alive, Blaire," Hecate admitted, the darkness of her eyes clashing with that of her daughters in a stormy array of emotion. "They've been trying to get rid of you. To ensure you weren't the hero the phrophecy spoke of."

Trying to get rid of her? What did that mean?

"What?" Blaire stammered, ashamed to be leaning into Hecate's touch. "Get rid of me!? What are—"

"Ben's death—your father's death. They are behind it. The others are behind it."

Blaire wanted to be sick. Her father's death wasn't an accident. She lost the only person who'd ever really loved her at the hands of the Gods. The people who were supposed to protect her did quite the opposite. They ruined her life.

"Zues, he meant to kill you. And he would've taken out anyone if it meant doing so," Hecate confessed. "You got away. You survived."

"Why?" Blaire begged.

Why? Why did she have to survive? And why couldn't her father? If anyone deserved to live, it was him.

"You're meant to live, Blaire," Her mother told her and Blaire couldn't help but shake her head. "You are so powerful. You shouldn't be here. Not yet."

Blaire was fully crying now, sobbing into the touch of her mother. After everything, this was how her mother approached her; with words so cryptically heartbreaking she couldn't bear them.

"Hades sent the Arae," Hecate smoothed a peice of her girl's wayward hair down. "He thinks you will end their reign. They all do. They can't risk that."

Blaire didn't try and push her mother away when she pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fell shut and she realesed a shuttering breath, wanting nothing more than to rest.

"I don't ever wanna go back. I can't."

"Yes," Hecate protested, "You have to."

"Won't they be mad at you?" Blaire asked. "For like... reviving me?"

"They'll get over it," Hecate said solemnly as if it were nothing but a minor inconvenience. "It's not your time, my girl."

WITH A GASP, Blaire jolted awake, the paper-sheets beneath herself crinkling as she did so. Every muscle in her body ached, and terrible surges of white hot pain shot through her veins. The flourescent lights above Blaire shone brightly, bringing a raging headache forth.

She wasn't at the wolf house, surrounded by ruins, nor was she in her childhood home. Instead, she was in Camp Half-blood's infirmary, sprawled out across one of the stiff cots, her torso wrapped in a thick layer of bandage.

Blaire was disoriented. Mobs of color swam in and out of her vision and her entire body felt hot. Her mouth felt dry, as if she'd never injested as much as a single drink of water. And her body trembled with a certian sort of strain.

"Blaire?" A quiet voice came from the opposite side of the room. She couldn't make out exactly who this was at first, but in a matter of seconds the speaker was standing before her.

It was Marlowe Mason, her younger sister who Blaire had promised she'd return the week before. Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying. And she stood coltishly at the foot of the bed, fidgeting with the many colorful bracelets stacked up her wrists. Yet, a near maniac grin took up the bottom half of her freckled face. She was relieved to see her sister alive after the story her fellow quest goers had told.

"Marlowe?" Blaire murrmured, pushing herself up on her forearms. Her whole body ached as she did so, but she couldn't help wanting to sit upright. "Where—-"

She was cut off though because Marlowe launched herself at the older girl, embracing her and knocking her back down onto the bed. "I thought you were dead, B! We all did. When Hera—"

And then another voice, one more masculine spoke up. "Marlowe, lay off her! She was just stabbed."

Will Solace stood before the two sisters, his arms crossed over his neon oraney t-shirt. His blonde eyebrows were furrowed, a crease appearing between them, and he held a glass of what appeared to be nectar.

"Glad to see you finally awake, Sullivan," Will told her, taking a few steps forward. "I thought we lost you."

"What— how am I—"

"Alive?" He finished for her as Marlowe reluctantly detached herself from her sister's shoulders.

"I don't know," he approached the bed, placing the nectar on the bedside table. "You were dead when Hera sent you all back. Then you just...weren't."

Blaire blinked, trying to rid herself of the terrible headache she was expirencing. She pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes, overwhelmed by the bright lights and the chatter of the others. It was all too much, she felt ill. Being revived from the dead would certainly do that to a person.

So, she couldn't help it, she doubled over and vomitted onto the linoleum floor.

"Sorry," Was all she managed before falling unconscious yet again.

THE NEXT TIME BLAIRE came to it, finally waking up from yet another bout of pained slumber, she wasn't alone. Though this time, neither Will nor Marlowe were there to keep her company. Instead, Leo Valdez sat on an unoccupied cot, his knees pulled to his chest and his chin resting atop them. He stared off into space mindlessly.

Of course, Blaire was still in pain and not yet fully mentally aware of her surroundings. But she felt better than she previously had, and for that, she was incredibly grateful.

"Leo?" Blaire croaked, squinting against the harsh light. He immediately perked up, leaping nearly twenty feet in the air at the sound of her voice.

Leo's dark eyes widened a tenfold as he looked upon his injured friend, glad to see her finally awake after the many visits he'd paid her whilst she'd been unconscious. He'd been worried about her. Though her demise had been several days ago, he swore he could still see her blood staining his trembling hands. He could still hear her desperate cries.

"Blaire," He stood abruptly, wiping at his weary eyes. He looked tired—like he'd not been sleeping much. And his clothes were rumpled, twisted waywardly in several directions. "You're okay?"

  She shifted, the stuffy air of the infirmary pervading her senses and causing a wave of nausea to roll over her. Blaire groaned, to which Leo raised his eyebrows in concern.

  She managed to shakily push herself up using her forearms and she threw her legs over the side of the bed, attempting to stand.

  "Should I get one of the healers to help?" Leo asked, and Blaire shook her head immediately, quick to refuse any help.

  "I'm fine. I want to go outside. Fresh air."

  She wasn't fine though. She stood wobbly and her weak legs nearly gave out beneath the weight of herself. A rush of pain hurried towards her midsection and it took everything in her not to double over. She tried to fight the pained expression creeping onto her face but miserably failed.

  Leo hurried over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder despite his knowledge of her hatred for physical touch. He thought if he didn't help Blaire, she might fall over.

  "Are you sure—"

  "Just help me," Blaire pleaded, the words clearly bringing her humility. She wasn't one to voluntarily ask for help— but she doubted she could make it outside without the help of Leo.

  So, he hesitantly slung an arm around her waist as hers twisted loosely around his shoulder, keeping herself upright. Blaire knew she'd never live this down, but her mind was too clouded by anguish to care about the physical closeness and the pads of his fingers resting atop her rumpled t-shirt. Blaire leaned the entirety of her weight onto his side, allowing him to assist her.

   As they trudged through the Big House, heading for the front door, the odd aura of warmth Leo emitted from his scrawny frame helped soothe the girl's achy joints.

   She hated the way his stern grip on her felt like a tether to reality. And she hated the way his curls brushed against the bare skin of her neck as he slightly knelt to help her walk.

  With his free hand, he threw the door open and the natural daylight flooded into the dimly lit home. The two made their way onto the large wrap-around porch and Leo helped her into a patio chair. After doing so, he collapsed onto the one beside her, his cheeks rosy from something other than the cold.

  She didn't thank him— she knew she should have but she was beyond embarrassed for having to even acquire the boy's help for such a mundane task in the first place.

  "How are you feeling?" Leo asked, his voice enthusiastic and lacking of the exhaustion he obviously felt. The aforementioned exhaustion was so un-Leo like, Blaire might have worried if she was well enough.

  "Like I just died and came back to life."

  Leo laughed despite the sincerity of her confession. "Fitting."

  Then the two elapsed into silence, which was a very rare thing on the Hephaestus boy's behalf. He was seldom quiet. Perhaps he just found the situation too intense to crack a joke or use a corny pickup line.

  Then, finally, after many minutes, Leo said, "I— we were all pretty worried about you, Mrs. Magic."

  Blaire frowned suddenly, averting her gaze down to her socked feet.

  They were worried about her? Why would they be worried about someone who had been so foul to them? About someone who had proved to be nothing but retched, selfish girl.

  It was a mystery to her. Why did Leo seem to care so much about her, going as far as visiting her whilst she was unconscious, and then helping relocate her? She didn't think any living person would go to such lengths for her. It was weird, really weird, the way Leo pretend to care—

  And then it hit her. Leo was her friend, no matter how persistently she denied it. He had become a friend to her admist the chaos despite the efforts she made to push him away.

  And friends cared for eachother.

lyn / HAI :D i don't like this chapter much but i couldn't keep blaire dead for much longer so i HAD to publish this :) i feel very sick and ill today so im sorry if the writing is not very good! Bailey if ur reading this i still fucking hate you by the way im so mad

  LAST CHAPTER OF ACT ONE!! WHO UP!