YOUNG DIVINITY ୨♡୧ PERCY JACKSON

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 ୨♡୧ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

VENUS ADORNED HER NECK WITH PALE BLUE FRESHWATER PEARLS. Her glossy sable colored curls where pinned up with a blue ribbon tied into a perfect bow with a pearl headband rested perfectly on top of her head and her Yancy uniform was crisp and not a thing out of place. Her antique knitted white cotton socks were hidden underneath her absolute favorite Prada powder blue leather mid-calf platform boots.

Venus had always dressed to impress and a field trip to a museum was a perfect opportunity. She didn't want to be all that associated with Yancy Academy, the school for troubled kids. She wasn't troubled, she was angry and burning for something more than her sheltered life where she was made to act as if she were a doll. She was someone who did not know what to do with the bones under her skin and the blood hiding in her veins that looked a little too good when she washed bloody hands down the sink.

She wasn't troubled, she was sick and tired with an ache she feels in her bones. Sometimes it feels like her bones is trying to break apart, spill at the seams all the terrible things she wishes she could scream, pasts that haven't been quite buried properly inside her threatning to claw its way to the light.

She isn't troubled or at least not in the way people think. She likes to make the distinction clear to herself if no one else will.

Venus had also gotten into the habit because her father was a benefactor to various art museums across the globe. She attended most galas that invited him, dressed in silk as she stared at the lovely painting Birth of Venus with something tender blooming in her chest.

Her father said that he named her after the roman Goddese of love in remembrance of her mother. She wonders if her mother would like who she's become and decides wisely it would lead her down a path she didn't want answers to.

Venus had found comfort in being surrounded by artwork. Even from a young age, marble statures of Greek Gods and Goddess and heroes, had completely fascinated her. Her father had taught her stories of a hero who died for his pride and his glory, of a Goddess kidnapped by grasping hands who became Queen of her dark new world, who had a Mother who loved her daughter enough to turn the earth barren with her mourning. Hearing the stories sort of felt like hearing a life she no longer lived.

Her love of art also came from her numerous visits to the finest upstate museums and the art from France and Italy. Her artwork had been simply magnificent and alluring to those who had the chance to see it. Her artwork was bone-chilling  and tragic, and glorious, like the achingly gorgeous paintings of the greatest Greek travesties. Every line, every single stroke of paint—it was done with care, with emotion, and it was as if she painted ghosts of her past.

She had a foolish dream of having her artwork hung in the very walls of the finest museums but she knows it will never come true. Still, she was excited that the usually absolutely awful field trips she dreaded going on because they always bored her, us actually going to be on a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at Ancient Greek and Roman art and history.

Venus puts the finishing touches on her outfit by pulling on a dark blue oversized hoodie that belonged to Percy. He had given it to her when she began to shiver during a study session with him in the library and had never asked for it back so Venus never volunteered to give it back. She loved the hoodie too much to give it back— it smelt of seawater and of a storm brewing on moon-tugged tides. He was never getting it back truthfully but she knows he would never ask anyways.

She leaves her room making sure she hasn't forgotten anything, her sketchbook tucked securely in her Prada handbang beside her satin tie scrunchies, dior lip gloss, and her Vogue magazine she draws her inspiration and where her own designs will grace the glossy pages are all there, and closes the door behind her.