BLYTHE, aurora.
draped in nothing but silk & wistfulness stood a woman in the center of a bookstall , reading secondhand scriptures like it was man’s greatest discovery . on the spread of a magazine was the flourishing gaze of a memory long repressed . heartwarmingly brown & eternally embellished with a million tales only the brave dared to fathom . a scoff . torn somewhere between the lines of revolt & delight .hysteria is quick to sheathe her movements , making her slam the magazine back with the rest , surface crinkled from just how tightly she held on . turning to move far from the picturesque gaze of her so called father ( the mortal one ) , the young woman accidentally stumbled into a figure , a customer , startling her to bits . “ oh , crap . i’m so sorry .. it was my fault & i— ” a pause . upon exchanging looks with the other , the bitterness in her eyes transmutes into roguishness , mind tentatively trailing away from the bitter stab of her life back in the real world . “cute store , huh ? .. the owner said some dryads donated wood to build this place . ”
When she came back to Olympus she wasn’t sure what her plan was going to be. All she had ever wanted to do was get back to her father, to go home, to be a family again but plans change, with an unwillingness heartbreak and permanent disappointment. He’d moved on, left her behind, just like her mother, there was no loyalty within family, with anyone really… but Goldie didn’t have time to think about that, because the one person she did trust, very begrudgingly so, told her to attend university. So she did just that, now at the bookstore collecting the decaying books of the old Greek stories for her first class; Greek Studies. Her fingers brushed over the spines of the aging books delicately, afraid her gruff mannerisms would break them if she pulled them out, biting her bottom lip in thought when she felt someone bump into her. Her gaze drifted to the culprit, anger being held back when she noticed it was just Blythe, “The dryads donated wood to build everything around here I’m sure,” Goldie stopped her admiration of the ornate spines and pulled a book out, forcing herself not to care about it’s looks, “Walking around with your nose shoved in a book is how you end up with a broken nose you know?”
















