❝ Does being a Child of Hermes automatically make you good at flirting? Or was that just a skill you picked up? ❞
Andromeda Jackson knew she was not cut out for the demigod life, and that was before she heard about her death from the creepy oracle i...
─── grover is shopping for a wedding dress despite being a child
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ℑ believed, at eighteen years old, that I was a little too old for nightmares. Apparently, I had no such luck so now, I want to subject you to my poor experiences that lead to me developing insomnia.
Buckle up!
It started like this.
I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town that did not look familiar. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.
Ah, I thought. Florida.
Then I heard hooves clattering against the pavement. I turned and saw my friend Grover running for his life.
Now, this was the first thing that clocked me on to something being weirdly off. Grover didn't do running, not since I had met him last year in eleventh grade. Not even, really, when we went on a fun little trip across the country to save the world with the hot guy, Luke, and Annabeth (who was finally starting to warm up to me, which was nothing short of a miracle).
I hadn't seen Grover since last July, when he set off alone on a dangerous quest—a quest no satyr had ever returned from.
Anyway, in my dream, Grover was sprinting, holding his human shoes in his hands and his hat in the other. He clopped past the little tourist shops and surfboard rental places. The wind bent the palm trees almost to the ground and I got sort of distracted thinking about catapults, before I switched my focus back to Grover.
Grover was terrified of something behind him. He must've just come from the beach. Wet sand was caked in his fur. He'd escaped from somewhere. He was trying to get away from...something.
A bone-rattling growl cut through the storm. Behind Grover, at the far end of the block, a shadowy figure loomed. It swatted aside a street lamp, which burst in a shower of sparks.
Grover stumbled, whimpering in fear. He was muttering to himself now, eyes wide in fear.
I couldn't see what was chasing him, but I could hear it muttering and cursing. The ground shook as it got closer (which was never a good sign). Grover dashed around a street corner and faltered. He'd run into a dead-end courtyard full of shops. No time to back up. The nearest door had been blown open by the storm. The sign above the darkened display window read: ST. AUGUSTINE BRIDAL BOUTIQUE.
