A Twisted Tale

2) Your Guardian Angel *Annabeth*

“Hey pretty thing, wake up,” a voice whispers in my head. I feel heavy, unable to move my limbs for some reason. It is as if concrete had taken place of my limbs and weighed me down. The last thing I could remember was the vivid dream I had been having: a woman had been fighting this… thing but all of a sudden she had ran towards camp screaming my name while a wolf tore across the field, tearing the beast to bits. A bright light seemed to wake me up. Shaken and sweating I had climbed out of bed to go outside, using the window so the harpies could not see what I was up to. Looking up at the stars, I had said to myself it was just a dream. Everything after that was an  all-consuming blackness that is starting to subside with each passing minute. I open my eyes to see a young, child-like face staring down at me.

“Who are you,” I slur, drool dribbling down the corner of my mouth. Attractive, I’m sure.

“Puck,” the child says while smiling, “although, many call me the Fairy of Terror. Here, I’ll show you.” I can do nothing but watch as his body spasms, elongating and widening. The next thing I know, a  fully grown man with ragged wings like that of a burnt butterfly appears before my eyes. Beautiful, yet tainted by time. Eyes as orange as his wings look at me, piercing me like an arrow shot from above.

“So now you know my true form,” a melodic voice murmurs from within the hulk of a man before me, “too bad Red isn’t here to see you like this. The look of shock upon your face is quite beautiful, if I say so myself.” His gloating is interrupted by his movement. He lay his hand against my head, and it runs down my cheek and down my side.

“Pervert,” I spat at him. His look of pleasure slips away, replaced with one of scorn.

“Now, now, young ladies will not talk that way to their master, will  they?” he asks, his foot slipping over one of my hands. My fingers are crushed as the weight of his body is upon me, bones cracking and joints popping.

“Be a good girl and I’ll treat you well.”

“Never-” I start, but his foot leaves my hand. I cradle my injury as he walks over to a table in the corner of the room. Now that I notice, the room’s kind of bare. A wide door, thick and locked by a thick combination, takes away my freedom. The ceiling is high up judging by the stature of the man before me, with a skylight at the top showing the torrential weather outside. There is a small bed in the corner with crisp white sheets, seemingly the only clean thing in the room.

Why does this scene feel so familiar? I question myself. My question goes unanswered as Puck saunters, yes he frickin saunters, towards me. I try to shield myself with an arm, but my limb stop short.

“There are chains attaching your feet to the wall, as well as your wrists. I can lengthen them as I please, but only if you ask daddy nicely,” slides from his mouth.

He puckers his lip as if going for a kiss and I can do nothing but give way, hoping for it to end quick. My only saving grace is thinking of Red, and how she’ll save me. I get into the kiss slightly as her body comes into my head, the scythe in her hand and a look of glory upon her face.

“Huh,” Puck chuckles, “that’s a good girl, I’ll give you food later for that.” I sit and think of what had happened, what I had done. If Red knew what I did, surely she would be mad. Anyway, the drug should wear off soon. Unless you want more, which can always be done," he says with a wink.

This is my old life, I realize. The bed, the strange man, physical encounters, all of it matches up. I thought I had gotten away from this at Camp Half-Blood but it seems I can never truly run from my past.

Why had my mother done this to me? is my only question.

*************

It’s been days since that incident, each hour growing worse and worse. Luckily Puck had stopped after the kiss, and had left the room. he had later brought the food as he had promised, but I have not seen him since.