𝗺𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲, 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗒 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇¹

𝟬𝟬𝟬. 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆

𝗺𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲
( 𝟬𝟬𝟬 . . . 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲 )

MY MOM NEVER MARRIED. Born and raised in Hawaii, Charlotte Woodsen was the definition of the girl next door. She smiled so sweetly, cared so deeply, and radiated so bright; people wanted to be close to her. They thought that if they could get close enough to the sun, then maybe they'd sparkle too.

When I was six, I found scrapbooks and journals filled to the brim of old photographs. Some cut out of magazines, others she made herself of sketches, paint, and water-color. Mainly from her middle and high school years, she made vision boards of her dream wedding, dream marriage, life, and pretty much everything.

I discovered that she wanted to be married on the beach behind her childhood home, a cove hidden from tourists. She wanted to wear a flowy white dress with flowers braided into her blonde hair. As I, a six-year-old turned the pages, I saw that she wanted a big happy family full of so much love.

She never got her dream wedding, her dream home, certainly not her dream man. I knew she loved me, but I know that she mourns what could've been.

I never knew my father. My mother didnt care to bring him up much, still too heart-broken and lovesick to introduce me to his memory. I found photographs of the two of them hidden in the drawers of her nightstand.  Both blonde, young, and carefree. In one photo he held her bridal style, carrying her into the ocean as she smiled so brightly, I thought her head must've hurt at the amount of adoration she looked up at him with. I thought it looked strange on her, since I had never seen her smile quite like that.

Growing up, all I remember was hurt, and anger. I wasnt sure why he couldnt call. During Christmases, as my mom's side of the family cut the dinner turkey and sang carols around the tree, I'd wait by the phone in the hallway. Waiting, waiting for something. A call? A message? I wasnt sure.

As my friends celebrated their birthdays around their big, happy families, I'd sit and smile and sing. Their parents would hug and smile so sweetly at them, and an annoying ache would tug at my heart.

On my birthdays, my mom would bring out the cake from the kitchen. She would set it out in front of me at the dining table, the moonlight from the ocean filtering into the small room. She'd brush out the hairs from my face as she sung me my birthday song. I'd sit there, every year, and try to hold in my tears. My mom would ask me "why are you crying?" and I never quite knew how to answer. I didnt enjoy my birthdays as my friends around me did.

I was eight when I first made my way to Camp. Grover was new at what he did. He had only found and brought back a handful of demigods by the time he found me, a young girl who wanted nothing to do with Grover, and whatever this Camp Half Blood was.

Together Grover and my mom managed to stay persistent against my attempts at not leaving, and drag me away from the only home I had ever known, to the camp I had gone my whole life without ever hearing about.

When Apollo claimed me on that summer at Camp Half-Blood, everything changed.