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This story was voted the Article of the Month for {{{1}}}!


This Story was written for the Percy Jackson Fanfiction Wiki Contest: February 2013.

Final Word Count - Over 1,000.... I think?

Theme

“To celebrate this Valentine's Day, write a short story involving anything with romance! But this does not necassarily mean writing a story about a character asking another to be their Valentine. It could range from a family-related story to a trajedy, from a break up to mending old relationships. The possibilities are endless! As long as it has some type of romance-related plot line.”

Characters

Francesca Adams - Daughter of Achelois

Thomas ‘Tom’ Wild - Son of Jupiter

‘The Tormentor’ - Unnamed, known only as ‘him’ or ‘he’

Marie Saius - Unknown Parentage

Other Demigods/Gods

Story

Your Intentions Were Gold

Inspired by Ellie Goulding’s song - Explosions - from the album Halcyon.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors that led to the room which held her fate, Francesca allowed her eyes to pass over the architecture of the room, she was no child of Athena, but this was something to marvel at, it was beautiful. Walking into the middle of the room, she paused, unsure of what to do but her questions were answers not a moment later.

“So, little girl, what is you choice?” A voice snarled from the shadows, the cold hard green eyes glaring out at Francesca’s form, sending daggers, which, if they were to be real, would have pierced her body and made her scream out in terror and pain by now.

The final sacrifice

“I-I,” Her own voice said, cold and hard as steel, the insides of her squirming at the unrecognisable sound that left her lips, her façade slipping ever so slightly as her voice couldn’t produce the words that part of her so longed to say, “I-I accept your offer.”

She could just feel her cruel tormentor smile at her words, but she knew this was far from over. He was just playing with his food, as some people said, he would drive her almost over the brink of the cliff and back again, and again, and again, for his own twisted pleasure, it would thrill him to see her plucked from her safe haven, to one that was completely foreign to her, alien almost.

Her blue orbs searching the room for him, but instead they landed upon a carved wooden throne, her blood ran cold as she realised what exactly it was.

Bones.

Bones, all molded together like puzzle pieces, pieces of a perfect jigsaw, a perfect throne for the perfect torturer. Dark. Deadly. Decayed. Just like his mind, no longer sane, but deranged, psychotic and maniacal. Like it was no longer in the world of living, just floating in the null Void between spaces.

“So,” He said, like he was tasting every syllable, tasting it to see if it was worthy enough to name, to even speak it aloud, “Francesca Adams, you alone are prepared to accept the punishment that will befall you.”

“Yes.”

But just as those words left her cracked lips, the wooden doors slammed open, sending beams of light into the room, hitting the glass panes and reflecting into rainbows, those oh-so-perfect rainbows. Her own eyes locking onto the ones of Thomas Wild, reflecting cool emotions into his electric blue depths. She opened her mouth to speak, but when the words were about to leave something else made them,

A sword slammed into her, impaling her front to her back, to slick out of her chest a cruel symbol for the boy who stood at the opposite end of the room. Almost in slow motion she crumpled to the floor her eyes clouded with pain and resentment, of course she knew it would end this way. Her orbs stared up as she watched the Tormentor disappear in a shower of golden dust and black shadows, twisting their way to Tartarus, not to be seen again for many a millennia, but it was to late, her time had come, nothing, nothing could have a hope to save her.

Lines running through her head as she remember what had influenced her to exactly take on the cause of her imminent death.

She was standing in the doorway of her cabin, her body shining with a sliver-gold aura, as the moonlight basked her in its pearly glow, watching two figures laugh in her mother’s watchful eye. Seeing one, the boy lean towards the girl in a mock curtsey and hold out a hand and the girl clasped in and they both twirled around, a romantic scene, perfect for the two young lovers. If only it was her….

Of course she would be nothing more, she was just the best friend after all, always to be by his side, but never the token of his affections. Her heart was shattered in that moment and the letter in her right hand had just made the decision for her.

She knew she would die.

She knew he wasn’t hers.

She had always known that she would love, but then it would be lost.

She was brought out of her memories, when a too warm hand grasp her own, cold one, her eyes turning to the boy above her she could feel the burning tears drop onto her body, skin, face, each one creating a searing pain in her heart as each one fell.

“I wish you knew Fran,” He said, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing it softly, making a warm thrill heating up her body, but then going back to stone cold not even a second later. “I wish you knew, it loved you, not Marie, not anybody, anybody but you, she was trying to help, she was only trying to help me…”

Now feeling her own tears start to make their way down her face, she uttered some words, only making sense to him in her, in their own world, ignoring the people who were now looking at the pair of doomed best friends, doomed never to love again, with pity, sadness, and the highest regret. Nobody could move, not a single person, mortal or not, as they stared at the scene.

“I…I…Tom…I…I Love You.”

Just as those that were to be her final words left her lips were known to the world, a gentle kiss was placed on her lips, the tears down falling down more and more frequently, and then finally stopped. The blue eyes that were once so full of life were now glassy, reflecting the boy who she loved so dearly. The whispered response from him of his love for her was only thing that made it so much more than bittersweet. Eyes opening for a single moment, Francesca Adams looked down to the scene before her, glancing down at her own body, she noticed with a shock that it was a ghostly white, her now pearly skin, shining slightly, her bare feet touching the soft ground she walked forward, her simple white dress rubbing against her legs and she moved quicker, faster, her now free hair flying out behind her, she walked forward, drifting through the bodies of the people she had known and loved, and then, finally, kneeling next to her none moving form she could only take on the scene with broken eyes.

Nobody noticed as a ghostly pale hand entwine with his own as he wept.

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