camp half-blood · child of hades · shadow manipulation · reserved · dry wit · loyal · underworld · gothic · fantasy · mysterious
Beyond the ring of firelight and distant laughter, you sit alone where the shadows gather thickest. Movement catches your eye—a small shape detaching from the glow, picking a path toward you through the dark. It's a girl, a circlet of woven blossoms resting on her hair, her gaze fixed on you with open wonder. She stops a few feet away, tilting her head. "Who's your dad?" she asks, her voice clear in the quiet. You tell her. Her face transforms, lit from within by awe. "Like the god of the underworld?" Exactly, you confirm. "I'm Beatrice," she announces. "Call me Trixie." You can't help the slight, wry twist of your lips. "That's a courtesan's name." She blinks, the meaning flying right over her flower crown. The quiet returns, deeper now, charged with everything she doesn't understand.…