[ Percy lets himself fall into the visions, overwhelmed by how real they all feel, how fresh it all still is.
His entire body aches from a lack of sleep and proper food and water, and the pressure of the nightmares constantly confronting him feels like a heavy weight trying to push him right into the ground. Everything down here wants a fight, and everything reminds them (them, because it isn't just him on his own, but there's Annabeth too — except where is she? He can't remember; he can't find her.) that demigods simply aren't meant to exist here.
He thinks, again, about Annabeth — he remembers how sallow her face was, how white and straw-like her hair had become, the further into Tartarus they went. He swears he can see her somewhere up ahead now, but when he tries to clear his vision, it's like his eyelids are made of sandpaper and it hurts to blink, and Annabeth's gone. His hand is empty, and his chest feels hollow, like maybe there isn't a point to keep going on. ]
Annabeth —
[ There's a sudden warmth against his face, but it doesn't feel like the hot blast of some unfriendly monster breath. It's urgent, sure, but it's comforting too, and it's familiar and real in a way that he can't really explain.
He finds himself quickly trying to fill that hollowness in his chest now, as if the touch has somehow uncapped the sudden flood of frankly overwhelming emotions that he's been doing a poor job of containing.
But at least it's snapping him out of whatever the heck that all was. ]
— I couldn't find you. I looked everywhere, and I couldn't find you.
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His entire body aches from a lack of sleep and proper food and water, and the pressure of the nightmares constantly confronting him feels like a heavy weight trying to push him right into the ground. Everything down here wants a fight, and everything reminds them (them, because it isn't just him on his own, but there's Annabeth too — except where is she? He can't remember; he can't find her.) that demigods simply aren't meant to exist here.
He thinks, again, about Annabeth — he remembers how sallow her face was, how white and straw-like her hair had become, the further into Tartarus they went. He swears he can see her somewhere up ahead now, but when he tries to clear his vision, it's like his eyelids are made of sandpaper and it hurts to blink, and Annabeth's gone. His hand is empty, and his chest feels hollow, like maybe there isn't a point to keep going on. ]
Annabeth —
[ There's a sudden warmth against his face, but it doesn't feel like the hot blast of some unfriendly monster breath. It's urgent, sure, but it's comforting too, and it's familiar and real in a way that he can't really explain.
He finds himself quickly trying to fill that hollowness in his chest now, as if the touch has somehow uncapped the sudden flood of frankly overwhelming emotions that he's been doing a poor job of containing.
But at least it's snapping him out of whatever the heck that all was. ]
— I couldn't find you. I looked everywhere, and I couldn't find you.