Work Text:
I don’t know exactly when I started.
It could’ve been a year ago, it could’ve been two months ago. Time is kind of fluid when you’re a god.
Well, I’m not. Not anymore. Not when the liquid that flows through my veins is no longer golden ichor but red, red, blood.
But somehow, through the cracks of my trials, I found closure and a sort of mad glee in the act of inflicting harm unto myself.
Every time, I have to laugh just a little. It’s freeing, in a way. I know that if I was a god doing this, Father would have punished me. Severely.
But to him, nothing is worse than being mortal, and here I am..
The sick joy that I get in gliding a blade across my arm, or my thigh, or wherever, really, is something that I don’t take pride in, trust me.
And yet…
It stings, but it stings in a way that feels good. Nobody notices, not when we’re constantly gaining new scrapes, scars, and bumps throughout this journey. Nobody pays any mind to the bandages on my arm. (Jason did. Jason noticed. So did Meg, and so did the fucking arrow. You’re getting careless.)
I don’t really know when I started. And I don’t know when I’ll stop. I don’t know if Artemis will ever notice. I hope Father doesn’t either.
“Dear reader, it takes a great deal of willpower to intentionally harm yourself.”