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CHAPTER THIRTEEN. an enemy of my enemy is my friend
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THERE WERE PLENTY of words within the crinkled pages of the English dictionary that Feyre Blanchard could use to describe Clarisse La Rue.
For starters, Clarisse was like her father in many ways, which made sense considering she was a descendent from the one of the most violent god of them all. The god of war, Ares, had an unquenchable thirst for conflict, and so did his favourite daughter. Clarisse thrived on causing troubles amongst half-bloods within the safety of their camp. Others often wondered if safety was even a possibility with the La Rue girl walking around camp, acting as if she owned the land she proudly stepped on, intimidating others. Whether they were from another cabin, or her own siblings, Clarisse had to make it clear that everyone had their place, and her place was at the top, wreaking havoc at every chance she got.
It was safe to say the apple did not fall too far from the tree.
In addition to the girl's thirst for conflict in the camp, which was proved time and time again, more so than ever when Percy Jackson's arrival in camp threatened the pedestal she had put herself on, Clarisse was also quick tempered and incredibly agressive towards others. There was a reason everyone was so deathly afraid of the girl. It was because she walked over them with pride and ease. And people allowed her to do so because, well, Clarisse was goddamn terrifying without even trying. Feyre couldn't help but admit she felt slightly intimidated by Clarisse when she first arrived at camp. Despite the fact that she was older than the girl, Clarisse had an incredible talent at making others feel so small in her presence.
And when Feyre first arrived at camp, that's exactly how she felt in comparison to the La Rue girl — small.
Of course, Feyre's confidence grew during her four years at camp, and so did her backbone that made her strong willed, or at least strong enough to stare into Clarisse's eyes and not flinch when the girl made the slightest movement towards her. So she wasn't as afraid of Clarisse as she used to be. But she always felt like she had to look over her shoulder, worried that the girl was plotting to display her head on the tip of that spear Percy Jackson had broken into two a couple of days ago now. Especially after Feyre won in her duel against Clarisse only after being at camp for a few months. Since then she walked around with a target on her back, waiting for Clarisse, or any one of Ares's kids to strike when she least expected it.
