Of Shocks and Seashells

Of Nightmares and Moonlit Walks

Disclaimer: Gods and Zeus above, how many times must I say this? I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, nor the cranky goddess Persephone who enjoys turning people into dandelions; Rick Riordan does.

Thalia's Point of View

I'm dressed in a long, flowing Greek chiton, which swirls around my ankles as I walk down the length of a sandy beach. The water is like glass, glistening and perfectly flat, smooth and unreadable, like the Sea God himself.

As I walk farther down, the beach looks less welcoming. The waves crash against the shore with a jerky, spasmodic rhythm. The sand becomes rougher and more rocky. My chiton gets tangled in burrs while crabs claw at me. I scream, terrified, as the ground rumbles and splits beneath my feet, and I fall down, down, down...the crack closing out the sky and the sunlight out, darkness overcoming my body, my mind.

And then the dream shifts. I'm in a giant throne room, the walls were black as the darkest night, as black as ebony, made out of marble. The floors were bronze, shimmering, but dully, as though the knife had been taken cruelly away from them. A throne, great but terrible, stood tall, an imposing silhouette, made of fused human bones. But then, then I am inside a dim cave, next to a pit, a deep, deep pit full of despair, full of fear, of hate, of anger. A pit as deep as Tartarus itself.

'Thalia,' it whispers, the voice rough and scratchy, but also smooth and cool at the same time. A voice as old as time itself, a voice that's young and full of wicked vigor. 'Join us. Join me, Thalia. We can give you everything you've ever wanted. We can give you power.'

'Thalia,' another voice, more familiar, says. It's welcoming; I feel at ease. Luke is suddenly at my side, his mouth stretched into that familiar grin, the grin that makes my heart ache, blue eyes sparkling happily. As he reaches his hand out to me, his eyes flicker to a liquidy gold color, then black to blue again. 'Come with me. Come with me, Thalia.' I am tempted to take his hand when his eyes turn that strange gold again, and he speaks in the voice I heard before. 'Take my hand Thalia.' I back away before running in the opposite direction of him, running, running as fast as I can, hearing Luke's laughter reverberate off of the walls of the cavern. 'You can run Thalia. Go ahead. Run. Just know that every step you take, every stride you sprint brings you closer. Closer to me.'

I wake with a start, gasping for air, sweat pouring down my face, matting my hair. I temporarily choke, coughing and gagging, until I calm down, clenching my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms. Eventually, my breaths slow down.

"Just a dream," I mutter. "It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about, Thalia. It was just a dream."

I wipe the sweat from my brow and ruffle my hair, trying to get it unmatted, but it's so humid in my cabin that it stays flat, which I detest. I sigh, pulling on a pair of ratty black converse. There's no way I'm going back to bed after I had that dream. Might as well take a walk. Get some fresh air.

I haul myself off of my bunk and walk to the door, not bothering to take my leather jacket. It's summer. It's not like Khinoe's going to suddenly get ticked off and make it snow inside the camp. I slip outside of my cabin. Everyone's asleep. Well, duh, Thalia! It's after lights out. And no one in their right mind wants to go out in the woods to take a walk after lights out. Except for me. Because that's who I am. Thalia Grace. Rebel.

The night's a nice one. It's cooler than in my cabin, with a warm breeze tickling my skin. The sky is an inky midnight blue, the stars twinkling brightly, the moon merely more than a silver sliver in the sky. No sounds, really, except for the leaves rustling on a few of the trees and the waves lapping onto the shore. Shoot. Waves. That reminds me of my stupid dream. Curse the gods, why couldn't demigods ever have normal dreams?