𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄; percy jackson

iv. enlightened despots

CHAPTER FOUR

━━enlightened despots━━

WAY BEFORE SHE HAD HER MEMORIES WIPED, OR BEFORE SHE WAS BANISHED TO THE UNDERWORLD, OR BEFORE HER DAD WAS AN ABUSIVE DRUNK, BELLADONNA WAS A HISTORY BUFF. For a brief period in her lifetime she had wished she lived during the Renaissance, to experience the rebirth of western culture with her own two eyes, to discover art, philosophy, literature. Then she realized what followed; enlightenment, revolutions, blood, despotism.

It was absolute power, and Belladonna hated it because she knew she would never have that type of eloquence humming in her ears and electrifying her fingerprints, conquering everything she touched. The gods had that power and she hated that even more, but for her life she couldn't remember why.

They were celestial enlightened despots, Belladonna didn't know it yet, but she would kill to one, to be sitting in a throne, with the gods begging at her feet and clawing at the dais for mercy.

The tension in the air was palpable and the gods refused to talk as they casted their steely eyes on the pair. Belladonna was impotent, vulnerable. She stood behind Percy, the brave (or foolish) boy that linked his pinky with hers and stared back at the gods, not knowing that they were looking past him and at the bruised and beaten daughter of Persephone and Lord Hades.

It felt weird for her, hanging off him like her life depended on it, but in retrospect, it did. Her voice was an out of tune piano, it was as if her psychosis was prismatic. Percy could count on one hand the amount of times he had heard her speak after drowning in the Lethe, and every time it caused a corner of his mouth of lift, even if he was being glared at by twelve impatient gods.

"Percy," she tugged at his hand, wondering why the gods looked as if they were scolding like she was six again. The marbled floors to the grandiose pillars felt all too familiar. "Who are they?"

Percy had to dip his head to hear her correctly because her voice was so small, but he caught the end of her dull sentence as it carried to his ears like a lifeless breath. He pursed his lips. "Let's just call them G.W.W.T.K.M."

She stared up at him, he could feel the irritation radiating from her glare. "What the hell does that mean?"

He shrugged, dropping her pinky before rolling his shoulders. "Just something I came up with. If I'm alive after this, I'll tell you."

Percy strode to the throne that had fishing nets hanging off it. Percy knelt at the gods feet. He looked just like him, handsome with deeply tanned skin and pitch-dark hair. Green green green eyes. That was Percy's--

"Father." Percy didn't dare looking up, and she could see his chest moving rapidly with his uneven breaths.

To the left, a booming voice spoke, taking their sky blue eyes off Belladonna and turning towards a trembling Percy. She could see he was trying to keep his cool, but the slight tremor of his fingers said otherwise. "Should you not address the master of this house first, boy?"

Percy stayed still.

"Peace, brother," brothers. "The boy defers to his father. This is only right."

"You still claim him then?" The one with the dangerous blue eyes roared--she figured he was the head of the council. "You claim this child whom you sired against our sacred oath?"

Belladonna's head was spinning. Her heart skipping beats with anxiety.

"I have admitted my wrongdoing," The one wearing a Tommy Bahama shirt rebuffed with exasperation in his deep voice. "I want to hear him speak."