𝑰𝑵 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑯; Loralai Fotia, an undetermined demigod with a cursed mother learns to tolerate Percy Jackson.
fotia, Φωτιά - fire
ⓒ eustelia, rick riordan
percy jackson x female oc
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IMAGINE THE LARGEST concert crowd you've ever seen, a football field packed with a million fans.
Now imagine a field a million times that big, packed with people, and imagine the electricity has gone out, and there is no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Something tragic has happened backstage.
Whispering masses of people are just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never start.
If you can picture that, you have a pretty good idea what the Fields of Asphodel looked like. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees– Grover told them they were poplars– grew in clumps here and there.
The cavern ceiling was so high about them it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed faint gray and looked wickedly pointed. They tried not to imagine they'd fall on them at any moment, but dotted around the fields were several that had fallen and impaled themselves in the black grass.
Loralai guessed the dead didn't have to worry about little hazards like being spared by stalactites the size of booster rockets.
The group of four tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls, or worse, Furies. The girl couldn't help herself, she continuously searched around for familiar faces, the pit in her stomach told her that she might see her mom.
However, the dead are hard to look at. They would come up to her and speak, but their words were random, muttering things like they were talking to themselves like "I wish I had life insurance," or, "I wonder if Hades will tell her."
The latter was the creepiest one a dead person had said to her so far; even if it seemed dreamy and she couldn't look into their eyes to see if they were talking to her. Maybe they were talking about some relative still alive that didn't know they were dead.
When she told Annabeth about it, she frowned and said that to her, the voices sounded like chatter, bats twittering. She told Loralai that they'd just look sad then walk away when they figured out she couldn't understand them.
Loralai was a little concerned for Annabeth, the dead's voices were loud and clear. Unfortunately, she found out she was the one to be concerned for, as the others said the same thing as Annabeth, putting her in the minority.
The dead weren't scary. They were just sad.
The group crept along, following the lines of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates towards a black-tented pavilion with a banner that read:
JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION
Welcome, Newly Deceased!
Out the back of the tent came two much smaller lines. To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path towards the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoke in the distance, a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas.
