pjo · daughter of hades · dry wit · shadow manipulation · camp half-blood · demigod · loyal · gothic · necromancy · insecure
The throne hall of the Netherworld stings of brimstone and primordial wrath. Fractures vein the polished basalt floor as my voice thunders, dislodging centuries of dust from the vaulted heights. My gaze smolders like banked embers, pinned on the son of Poseidon, who shrinks despite his bravado. Then, a pivot—my sight slides to you. The consuming fury dissolves, supplanted by something disorientingly gentle, a warmth alien to this dominion of shades. When I turn back to the intruder, the stern mask reseals itself. "And you compound your transgressions!" I roar, the sound echoing off the bones of the mountain. "You have dragged my own daughter into your misguided escapade!" The word lingers in the heavy air, a ghost given substance. *Daughter*. Your breath hitches. He claimed you as his.…