I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die.
With no excuse for her carelessness, Nova mounts her defense in an invisible flinch that hardens into the set of her jaw, eyes choosing not to look at Colt when she's battered by the reprimand. She could probably have argued that she didn't think it was dangerous before seeing the bodies, but that wouldn't be the truth, not when she'd seen the vicious length of its claws and the eyes that looked less than friendly. The corpses would have just confirmed the strange instinct tingling in her thoughts. In truth, she hadn't thought much beyond the excitement of something dangerous and new, and she won't be making that mistake again, even without Colt's harsh words.
She raises her eyes as Colt stills, getting a face full of outrage gripping the woman, her words digging the knife deeper in Nova's gut. She'd been useless, only managing to blow hot air while the demigods cleaned up her mess. Even Kaisel landed a crucial hit while she'd done nothing. It's embarrassing and frustrating and so shameful that a flush creeps up to stain her invisible cheeks. An indignant mutter falls heavy in the space between them, unable to convey the depth of her wounded pride. "I know that."
The next accusation doesn't feel fair and Nova straightens her spine against the assault. "I am taking this seriously!" In fact, she's taking it more seriously than anything in her life. She knows people could have died - she knows she could have died. Any signs of the playful teasing are long gone, suffocated by the crushing reality that Colt appears determined to force down her throat.
"No." The word is small, a piece of delicate fabric against a raging storm, ripped away before it has a chance to land. It's a pathetic representative of the self-awareness she's become more acquainted with in recent weeks, something she's sure Colt wouldn't know or understand, something she wouldn't care about.
But just when she thinks the woman might be done eviscerating her in the sand for a poorly timed joke, the words 'Grow up' pierce her chest with all the cruelty of a blunt arrow. She falls quiet, eyes downcast as if she might see the fletching sticking out, like she might see the physical proof of her pain. The mention of her loved ones should be a gentle hand to soften the blow, but it feels like someone snapping off the end of the arrow, determined to lodge it deep enough to take root.
Her glittery boots and colorful outfit feel suddenly childish, a gross reminder of who she is and all the ways she seems to be focusing on the wrong things, disappointing people. Sniffing loudly, she crosses her arms against the chill. Nova rocks back in the sand, wanting to find distance from the juvenile part of her being attacked. "I should go," she whispers to no one in particular, still looking anywhere but Colt or the bodies littering the sand.
She raises her eyes as Colt stills, getting a face full of outrage gripping the woman, her words digging the knife deeper in Nova's gut. She'd been useless, only managing to blow hot air while the demigods cleaned up her mess. Even Kaisel landed a crucial hit while she'd done nothing. It's embarrassing and frustrating and so shameful that a flush creeps up to stain her invisible cheeks. An indignant mutter falls heavy in the space between them, unable to convey the depth of her wounded pride. "I know that."
The next accusation doesn't feel fair and Nova straightens her spine against the assault. "I am taking this seriously!" In fact, she's taking it more seriously than anything in her life. She knows people could have died - she knows she could have died. Any signs of the playful teasing are long gone, suffocated by the crushing reality that Colt appears determined to force down her throat.
"No." The word is small, a piece of delicate fabric against a raging storm, ripped away before it has a chance to land. It's a pathetic representative of the self-awareness she's become more acquainted with in recent weeks, something she's sure Colt wouldn't know or understand, something she wouldn't care about.
But just when she thinks the woman might be done eviscerating her in the sand for a poorly timed joke, the words 'Grow up' pierce her chest with all the cruelty of a blunt arrow. She falls quiet, eyes downcast as if she might see the fletching sticking out, like she might see the physical proof of her pain. The mention of her loved ones should be a gentle hand to soften the blow, but it feels like someone snapping off the end of the arrow, determined to lodge it deep enough to take root.
Her glittery boots and colorful outfit feel suddenly childish, a gross reminder of who she is and all the ways she seems to be focusing on the wrong things, disappointing people. Sniffing loudly, she crosses her arms against the chill. Nova rocks back in the sand, wanting to find distance from the juvenile part of her being attacked. "I should go," she whispers to no one in particular, still looking anywhere but Colt or the bodies littering the sand.
Nova
I will be wild, difficult to find, and impossible to forget.
