"PATHETIC." Her unforgiving eyes are sharpened with wolf's gaze, hunger satiated only by violence and destruction.
Only halfling child born to the Primordial God of Creation, Phanes, the Favored Champion of Hera, the Reaper of Hades, the Flame of Hestia, and the Warden Hecate.
Cynthia Saern is the juxtaposed idea between sweet and innocent to malicious and coarse. She is as sharp as a blade, yet as sweet as a flowering bruise in the height of spring.
As she stared at her reflection divinity gazes back. For divinity burns within her. Those who play with fire are burnt, and within her lays a flame far too great for the mortal shell he wear. After all she is made of impossibility trapped between mortal bones and flesh.
With blood mixed with golden ichor trickling down from her nose. She bears the color of death in her eyes, gold and green. Her eyes are a feral gold wolf's eyes, the same colour as the magic she possesses. Soon the molten gold of her eyes started cooling off back to their unforgiving green shade.
With power that hums in her blood, in her very soul. It lingers in her eyes, and pulses with the beat of her heart.
Even when the Fates had called on her soul, tugging her down a path she did not wish to follow, she walked unassisted. The incessant noise of destiny hung like a noose around her neck like pearls.
She hates the feeling her mortality burning away.
Cynthia could feel the icy call of divinity settle in her bones, and she silences it, laying it dormant.
She is power. It coils around her heart, strengthening every beat. It sharpens her intricate mind, and dulls the pain that hits her nerves.
Even Thanatos knows because he can sense that she is not his to reap. The Lord of Passing will never take her soul, and deliver her to Hades.
She is golden blooded with divinity in her bones.
Her immortality is inevitable, her power unfathomable. Cynthia is the making of a being, forged by the fires of conflict, and cooled with the last mortal blood running through her veins.
Cynthia have always been much more powerful than she should've been.
Everybody thought it. They always looked at her in awe after witnessing the strength she holds.
Though she don't think anyone but the Fates themselves could've known of what was going to happen in the end.
They feared her.
She doesn't blame them of course.
They knew the stories.
They knew of the perils of powers.
They knew of what happens to those pitiful creatures who fly too close to the sun.
She washes her hands repeatedly, but they're still stained crimson even after the water runs clear.
"Cynthia?" A voice from outside the bathroom called knocking on the door. "You alright? You've been there for awhile."
"I'm fine, Percy." Cynthia told him with her natural Bristol accent, as she wiped away the blood from her nose. "Just a few more minutes then I'm out."
"Ah okay. Just so you know the cookies are done." Percy said and left Cynthia to finish up.
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
