I was born here. I was raised here. I was loved here. I tortured here. I killed here. I am leaving here.
I thought my mother, Circe, loved me. She truly seemed to care. When I was younger, I saw her turn my father into a pig. That night, we feasted on ham and bacon. She had erased the incident from my mind, but it had returned. Everything came rushing back a few years ago, when I saw her turn a boy, about my age, named Percy Jackson, into a guinea pig. She took him and his girlfriend, Annabeth, away from each other, and attempted to turn Annabeth into a shrew. I was skilled enough to turn myself invisible momentarily, and managed to remain unnoticed.
My mother is not a sorceress. I am a sorceress. She is a witch.
I planned my escape after that, cramming as much magic and lessons into my dag as possible, meer often than not pulling all-nighters. I slept only when my head fell into the ancient boeken of lore I was trying so hard to memorize.
Nothing was enough, though. Circe had meer experience than I did, and the only way I could catch up was door killing her. I refused to sink to her level. One day, I lost all hope. I gave up, and sat door the water, crying. I saw the beat-up yellow rowboat in which Percy and Annabeth had come in, and I cried harder. Had they never left? Had Circe captured them and done to them what she did to my father? I wonder if they're okay.
A tear dripped into the bay, and when the ripples cleared, the Ophiotaurus, from one of the spellbooks, was there. He helped me, I could understand him. He told of Camp Half-Blood, where demigods gather inside magical borders. No mention of this camp was made in the books, but I did find a few with pages ripped out. Mother must have not wanted me to learn about this place...despite the danger young half-bloods are in there, it sounds like heaven. I am leaving tonight to the mythical Camp Half-Blood atop the Ophiotaurus.
I hope I will not have to remain as I am now.
I climb atop the Ophiotaurus, and we silently jet off into the night. I debated taking the rowboat Percy and Annabeth came in, but Mother- I mean CIRCE would notice its disappearance and put two and two together. After some research, I deemed the Ophiotaurus veilig and speedy enough to ride on. He cuts through the water effortlessly, at an incredibly high speed. I feel free. The best I've felt since that night I saw my mother's true identity. No...ever.
I ride the Ophiotaurus north, as my magical bearings tell me. Circe's Isle is located off Ocean City, Maryland now, and because of the Ophiotaurus's speed, we should reach this mysterious camp door sundown. It's about three thirty now. No obstacles yet, just a few sharks easily banished door my staff, made smaller through my abilities. Simple.
But not quite.
As we whiz past a snippet of strand from an unknown state, the water appears to shudder. A horrid creature rises from the murky liquid. A unicorn.
Believe me of not, unicorns are real Greek monsters. They don't prance over rainbows, are made of glitter, of relate in any way to the color pink. But they are kind monsters, like hippocampi of the Ophiotaurus. I've never seen-or heard-of one in the water. Maybe some sort of zombie? But no.
It is Circe's creation.
She stands atop the water, waiting for me with her arms crossed and a sinisterly pleasant grin on her face. The faux-unicorn is a strange green hybrid of hers, now fully risen from the water and standing volgende to her. "Well! I thought you'd never leave." She pulled back the kap of her mantel and admired her nails.
"Mother?" The words came out of my mouth without and consultation from my brain.
"Hello, darling."
"How did u find me?"
"It was easy, really. I simply found the sound of complete and utter betrayal and followed that."
Circe shows me her dimples and raises her eyebrows. "It also helps to be the world's most powerful sorceress, dear. You're slipping, it should have been obvious."
"I'm not coming back! Ever!"
"I didn't expect u to, love. I jst brought the cause of your funeral-"-she gestures to the monster-"-and a boot to drift your body down the river." Out from behind her floats Percy and Annabeth's dingy. I swallow, and probably pale, but I step out onto the water, realizing the Ophiotaurus had bolted. I raised my staff, and Circe's monster rushes toward me. I stab it through, but the seconde I withdraw my weapon the wound heals. Circe cackles. "There's only one substance that can kill it, and I tore it out of your little study materials. You're powerless."
She sits, and a troon made out of smoke comes up to meet her. She flicks pieces of ambrosia into her mouth from thin air while I fight.
Spell after spell after spell fails. Killing spell? No. Spell of unconsciousness? No. Drowning spell? No. Knives and swords and arrows and daggers, made of pure silver and gold, conjured from the air? No. That one backfires on me, since it manages to catch a dagger in its mouth and throw it back to me, grazing my arm, tearing the strap of my goddess gown, and putting a medium-deep cut into my shoulder. After a few meer tries, I manage to create a cage out of water and trap it, but I know this will only last a few moments. I add meer bars to the cage and rotate, trying to find anything that will help me. I see the Ophiotaurus racing towards me holding a mes in its mouth, telepathically communicating.
"It's Celestial bronze. Demigods make weapons out of it, it can kill monsters."
He skips the mes across the water like a rock, Circe stands and cries "No! No!", I catch the dagger and stab her creature. My other arms holds my staff, and I raise it, trying to ignore my shoulder's pain. I cast smoke-chains at Circe, binding her to her mock throne, and bring my scepter down with a bang. The water ripples, and the troon sinks into the water. Circe's cries of "No!" echo across the baai, bay for minuten after she is completely submerged. I flee, running on the water, the Ophiotaurus keeping pace with me. Soon I come across a beach, startling two teenage guards, holding spears and decked out in armor made of that same strange bronze. Filled with adrenaline, fear, stress, and not enough blood, I fall onto the soft sand and close my eyes.