Calypso's POV 8

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I missed Leo.
I didn't know how else to say it.
I knit clothes that would've fit Leo, then put them in a closet that had tools carved into them.
I went to the camp that Leo made when he crash landed here, and sat there. Hugging any leftover hammers.
So, yeah. I was a victim of hangover.
"Leo's gone," I told myself,"He's just like any other demigod that came here. He won't come back. He-he doesn't love me."
I had spent almost a year now stuck on this island, and Leo still didn't come.
I cried.
That was the only thing I did these days. Cried, for hours on end. About anything. There was nothing else for me to do. Leo wasn't here, so neither was I.
I walked out to the beach, and planted my feet in the sand along the surf. It was mushy and broken, just like my feelings.
I waded deeper into the water.
Up to my knees.
My waist.
My neck.
My nose.
Over my head.
I just floated there.
Floating. Floating. Floating.
Then I broke the surface.
I started back towards the shore, when the water grew a fist, and pulled me back.
"Let me go!" I shouted.
Not yet, little granddaughter, murmured a sleepy voice, you will wait.
"Gaea!" I struggled against the fist.
You're with me now, Gaea said.
Then the fist pulled me under the waves, and my vision slipped into nothing.

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