𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍, Selene didn't want to be a Goddess...
She was a normal fifteen-year-old-class president, a dedicated ballerina at Manhattan's MS-54, and Percy Jackson's math tutor.
One fateful night shattered her reality when the ancient Greek myths...
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My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something
𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐲, taylor swift
As they reached the deck of the farmhouse, Selene went straight for the couch. She kicked her sneakers up onto the cushions, making herself entirely at home.
Meanwhile, Geryon attempted to assert some authority, starting to tell Eurytion to tie up the rest of her friends. Selene merely raised a finger with a chuckle escaping her lips.
"Boys, boys," she chided, shaking her head. "That's not going to happen."
With a nod of her head, all of them—Tyson, Grover, Annabeth and Nico, were brought up sliding across the room, as if an invisible force pulled them close to her. "Take a load off, folks. Nico, you're sitting with me."
"Don't tell me what to do," he scoffed, but begrudgingly took a seat beside her anyway, unable to resist the pull of her forces.
The deck was set up for a party. Streamers and balloons decorated the railing.
Geryon didn't seem content. "Listen, in MY ranch, you take MY—"
Selene glanced back at him, her body halfway turned in his direction. Her eyes held no pupils, just shimmering silver.
"You're dying today, Geryon," she said softly, as if she was telling her aunt they'd be baking carrot cake later that evening.
And that was it. Nothing else.
"You cannot kill me."
Selene chuckled again, finding the entire situation amusing. "Who said I would bother? You're no threat to me."
Then, her eyes fell on Eurytion.
"Does your friend over here oppose to me by any way?"
He didn't say anything. Eurytion lounged at a picnic table, picking his fingernails with a knife.
Geryon sighed, and then grabbed a spatula. He turned after a while and started flipping burgers on a huge barbecue cooker made from an oil drum.
Annabeth nervously drummed her fingers on the hilt of her dagger, glancing sideways at Selene, who lounged casually beside her. "You've never been that confident," she whispered.
"Yeah, but I've always been a good liar."
She nodded. "Plan?"
"That's your job, Wise Girl. I'm just here for the dramatic flair and occasional witty jokes."
Grover grimaced. "He's barbecuing the sacred cows," he cried, pointing at Geryon.
