CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
SILVIANA            DUVALL

Nine days.

Sylvie was falling, and her newfound knowledge abilities must've been kicking in, because now she was thinking about some old Greek poet who'd speculated it would take nine days to fall from earth to Tartarus. She was sure that wasn't a legend she'd known before.

Still, she hoped he was wrong. She'd lost track of how long she and Percy had been falling—hours? A day? It felt like an eternity. They'd been holding hands ever since they dropped into the chasm. Now, Percy pulled her close, hugging her tight as they tumbled through absolute darkness.

Wind whistled in Sylvie's ears. The air grew hotter and damper, as if they were plummeting into a wildfire. Her recently broken ankle throbbed, though she couldn't tell if it was still wrapped in black ivy.

The Titan godess Mnemosyne. Despite having no memories, being smashed by a car, and plunging into Tartarus, the Titaness had gotten her revenge. Somehow her black ivy had entangled Sylvie's leg and dragged her over the side of the pit, with Percy in tow. She might be down there still. She might be dead entirely. That was the least of Sylvie's worries, though, when she and Percy would probably be flatted on impact when they reached the bottom.

She wrapped her arms around Percy and tried not to sob—she'd already cried enough recently. It's not like Sylvie expected her life to be easy. Most demigods died young at the hands of terrible monsters. That was the way it had been since ancient times. The Greeks invented tragedy. They knew the greatest heroes didn't get happy endings.

Still, this wasn't fair. She had to endure her father's mental illness for sixteen years of her life. She had to be betrayed, stabbed, and tortured by her closest sister. She had to watch her favorite sibling die underneath her hands. She had to be ridden with constant anxiety and timidity that prevented her from breathing at times. She had to be stabbed a second time, this time by a poisonous knife, when protecting Percy. She had to lose Percy for seven months, thinking he had forgotten her, in the name of the "greater good." She had to forget Percy the moment she got him back. She had to lose sight of herself, break her ankle, fight past her pain, battle an ancient Titaness, and unlock a darker side of her power to defeat Mnemosyne that Eurydice would've been proud.

She had gone through so much just to retrieve that statue of Demeter. Just when she'd succeeded, when things had been looking up and she'd been reunited with Percy, they had plunged to their deaths.

Even the gods couldn't devise a fate so twisted.

But Gaea wasn't like other gods. The Earth Mother was older, more vicious, more bloodthirsty. Sylvie could imagine her laughing as they fell into the depths.

Sylvie pressed her lips to Percy's ear. "I'm sorry."

She wasn't sure he could hear her—but if they were going to die she wanted those to be her last words. Sylvie would never forgive herself for forgetting Percy, for the things she said. She hated herself even more for it. He had to know that. If she died, it would be under the weight of her guilt.

Suddenly, their surroundings changed. The darkness took on a gray-red tinge. She realized she could see Percy's hair as she hugged him. The whistling in her ears turned into more of a roar. The air became intolerably hot, permeated with a smell like rotten eggs.

The chute they'd been falling through opened into a vast cavern. Maybe half a mile below them, Sylvie could see the bottom. For a moment she was too stunned to think properly. The entire city of Albany, Louisiana could have fit inside this cavern—and she couldn't even see its full extent. Red clouds hung in the air like vaporized blood. The landscape—at least what she could see of it—was rocky black plains, punctuated by jagged mountains and fiery chasms. To Sylvie's left, the ground dropped off a series of cliffs, like colossal steps leading deeper into the abyss.

The stench of sulfur made it hard to concentrate, but she focused on the ground directly below them and saw a ribbon of glittering black liquid—a river.

"Perce!" she yelled in his ear. "Water!"

She gestured frantically. Percy's face was hard to read in the dim red light. He looked shell-shocked and terrified, but he nodded as if he understood.

Percy could control water—assuming that was water below them. He might be able to cushion their fall somehow. And, even maybe, Sylvie's blessing from Poseidon would come in handy. Of course, Sylvie had heard horrible stories about the rivers of the Underworld. They could take away your memories (which they've had their fair share of recently), or burn your body and soul to ashes. But she decided not to think about that. This was their only chance.

The river hurtled toward them. At the last second, Percy yelled defiantly. The water erupted in a massive geyser and swallowed them whole.

Freezing water shocked the air right out of Sylvie's lungs. Her limbs turned rigid, and she lost her grip on Percy. She began to sink. Strange wailing sounds filled her ears—millions of heartbroken voices, as if the river were made of distilled sadness. The voices were worse than the cold. They weighed her down and made her numb. Poseidon's blessing didn't seem to be working anymore.

What's the point of struggling? they told her. You're dead anyway. You'll never leave this place.

She could sink to the bottom and drown, let the river carry her body away. That would be easier. She could just close her eyes, and give up—

Percy gripped her hand and jolted her back to reality. She couldn't see him in the murky water, but suddenly she didn't want to die. Together they kicked upward and broke the surface.

Sylvie gasped, grateful for the air, no matter how sulfurous. The water swirled around them, and she realized Percy was creating a whirlpool to buoy them up. She tried making out her surroundings the best she could.

"A shore," she croaked. "Go sideways."

Percy looked near dead with exhaustion. Sylvie knew why. Usually water reinvigorated them, but not this water. Controlling it must have taken every bit of Percy's strength. The whirlpool began to dissipate. Sylvie hooked one arm around his waist and struggled across the current. The river worked against her: thousands of weeping voices whispering in her ears, getting inside her brain.

Life is dispair, they said. Everything is pointless, and then you die.

"Pointless," Percy murmured. His teeth chattered from the cold. He stopped swimming and began to sink.

"Perce!" she shrieked. "The river's messin' with your mind. It's the Cocytus. Made of pure misery."

"Misery," he agreed.

"Fight it."

She kicked and struggled, trying to keep both of them afloat. Another cosmic joke for Gaea to laugh at: Silviana dies trying to keep her boyfriend, the son of Poseidon, from drowning.

Sylvie wouldn't let that happen. She'd already survived everything else the crazy hag had put her through.

She hugged Percy tighter and kissed his temple. "New Rome," she said. "Tell me about it. What're your plans for us?"

"New Rome... For us?"

"Yeah, Fishstick. You said we could have a future there. C'mon, tell me."

Sylvie remembered everything now. Days ago, on the Argo II, Percy had told her that he imagined a future for the two of them among the Roman demigods. In their city of New Rome, veterans of the legion could settle down safely, go to college, get married, even have kids. She still couldn't fathom how he wanted that with her.

"Environment," Percy murmured. The fog started to clear from his eyes. "Thought you'd like the gardens and plants. There's one park with just your kind of forestry."

Sylvie started making progress against the current. Her limbs felt like bags of wet sand, but Percy was helping her now. She could see the dark line of the shore about a stone's throw away.

"College," she managed. "We'd go together?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed, a little more confidently. "Might need help getting in from Annabeth, though."

Sylvie huffed, part amused and part exhausted. "That's true. She'll come with. What would you study, Perce?"

"Dunno," he admitted.

"Marine science," she suggested. "Oceanography?"

"Surfing?" he asked.

She laughed, and the sound sent a shock wave through the water. The wailing faded to a background noise. Sylvie wondered if anyone had ever laughed in Tartarus before—just a pure, simple laugh of pleasure. She doubted it. She just knew Percy latched onto the sound like it was his lifeline. He could properly look at her now.

"You wanna study Earth science," he said, like it was a fact.

"That's right," she encouraged.

Percy's furrowed eyebrows softened from a pained look to a reverent one. "At New Rome with me?"

"Anywhere with you."

Sylvie used the last of her strength to reach the riverbank. Her feet dug into the sandy bottom. She and Percy hauled themselves ashore, shivering and gasping, and collapsed on the dark sand.

Sylvie wanted to curl up next to Percy and go to sleep. She wanted to shut her eyes, hope all of this was just a bad dream, and wake up to find herself on the Argo II, safe with her friends (as safe as a demigod can ever be).

She wanted to be laughing fondly at something endearing Frank had done. She wanted to be talking about vegetarianism with Piper. She wanted to be sharing favorite memories of Louisiana with Hazel. She wanted to be cheered up by whatever nonsensical comment Finley was making. She wanted to just be in Jason's presence, because they understood each other enough that talking wasn't even necessary. She wanted to be annoyed by Leo's brotherly behaviors. She wanted to be spending time with Annabeth, her best friend

But, no. She and Percy were really in Tartarus. At their feet, the River Cocytus roared past, a floor of liquid wretchedness. The sulfurous air stung Sylvie's lungs and prickled her skin. When she looked at her arms, she saw they were already covered with an angry rash. She tried to sit up and gasped in pain.

The beach wasn't sand. They were sitting on a field of jagged black-glass chips, some of which were now embedded in Sylvie's arms and legs.

So the air was acid. The water was misery. The ground was broken glass. Everything here was designed to hurt and kill. Sylvie took a rattling breath and wondered if the voices in the Cocytus were right. Maybe fighting for survival was pointless. They would be dead within the hour.

Next to her, Percy reached his hand out and delicately plucked away one of the glass shards from her skin. "There you go."

Sylvie managed a weak smile. He didn't make productive progress with the glass, not by any means, but that didn't matter to her right now. She just loved Percy. He was dorky and endearing and always able to lift her spirits.

She wasn't alone. She had him. And that meant she couldn't give up.

Sylvie forced herself to focus on the reality of the situation. Her foot was still wrapped snugly in the duct tape, and her ankle was still tangled in black ivy. The injury still hurt whenever she moved her leg, but definitely not as much as before. The ambrosia she'd eaten in the tunnels under Rome must have healed her bones a little bit. She figured her ankle was either just fractured or sprained at this point.

Her backpack was gone—lost during the fall, or maybe washed away in the river. She felt horrible for losing Leo's stuffed dragon. The bow had fallen out of her hair at some point, so it hardly even mattered it had been tarnished from its innocent white color. One of her xiphos daggers was missing. Cereal was a weapon she'd carried since she was eleven years old, and now it was lost forever.

The realization almost broke her, but she couldn't let herself dwell on it. What else did they have?

No food, no water... basically no supplies at all.

Yep. Off to a promising start.

Sylvie glanced at Percy. He looked pretty bad. His dark hair was plastered across his forehead, his dress shirt from their date in Rome ripped up. His fingers were scraped raw from holding on to that ledge before they fell. His hands and knees had glass shards lodged in them. Most worrisome of all, he was shivering and his lips were blue.

"We should keep movin' or we'll get hypothermia," Sylvie said. "Can you stand?"

He nodded.

Percy struggled to his feet, then held out both of his arms to help Sylvie up. She was more drained than him from putting so much effort into getting them ashore. Her balance was still wobbly considering her fractured ankle. Needless to say, she was grateful Percy was offering her some support. When they locked hands, his blood from the glass smeared on her skin, but at least he successfully pulled her up.

Sylvie put her arm around his waist, and Percy put his arm across the back of her shoulders, holding her up. She scanned their surroundings. Above, she saw no sign of the tunnel they'd fallen down. She couldn't even see the cavern roof—just blood-colored clouds floating in the hazy gray air. It was like staring through a thin mix of tomato soup and cement.

The black-glass beach stretched inland about fifty yards, then dropped off the edge of a cliff. It made Sylvie's gut churn, because she'd experienced enough cliffs to last her a lifetime. She was in Tartarus because of one.

"You shouldn't have teased me so much about falling off the cliff that one time," Percy murmured. "Look where it got us."

Sylvie used her free hand to hit his chest, but she was restraining a smile as she did so. "Shut up."

Percy didn't even bother to restrain his smile.

She looked back over at the cliff. From where she stood, Sylvie couldn't see what was below, but the edge flickered with red light as if illuminated by huge fires.

A distant memory tugged at her—something about Tartarus and fire. Before she could think too much about it, Percy inhaled sharply.

"Look." He pointed downstream. 

A hundred feet away, a familiar-looking baby-blue Italian car had crashed headfirst into the sand. It looked just like the Fiat that had smashed into Mnemosyne and sent her plummeting into the pit.

Sylvie hoped she was wrong, but how many Italian sports cars could there be in Tartarus? Part of her didn't want to go anywhere near it, but she had to find out. She gripped Percy's hand, and they stumbled toward the wreckage. One of the car's tires had come off and was floating in a backwater eddy of the Cocytus. The Fiat's windows had shattered, sending brighter glass across the dark beach. There was a trail in the sand, as if something or someone had trudged into the darkness.

"She's alive." Sylvie was so horrified, so outraged by the unfairness of it all, she had to suppress the urge to throw up.

"It's Tartarus," Percy said. "Monster home court. Down here, maybe they can't be killed."

A deadpan beat passed. He gave Sylvie an embarrassed look, as if realizing he wasn't helping team morale.

"She doesn't have her memories. I doubt it's easy for an amnesiac Titaness to survive around here with worse monsters. She's probably on the road to death by now."

"Let's go with that," Sylvie agreed.

Percy was still shivering. Sylvie wasn't feeling any warmer either, despite the hot, sticky air. The glass cuts on her arms and legs were bleeding. Her breathing got more and more labored.

"This place is killin' us," she said. "I mean, it's literally gonna kill us. Unless..."

Tartarus. Fire. The distant memory came into focus. One that had to be from her new remembrance abilities. She gazed inland toward the cliff, illuminated by flames from below.

It was an absolutely crazy idea. But it might be their only chance.

"Unless what?" Percy prompted. "Crazy-idea time?"

"It's always crazy-idea time," Sylvie murmured, feeling oddly nostalgic for a past moment shared between them. "But, yeah. We need to find the River of Fire."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

When they reached the edge, Sylvie was sure she'd signed their death warrants.

The cliff dropped more than eighty feet. At the bottom stretched a nightmarish version of the Grand Canyon: a river of fire cutting a path through a jagged obsidian crevasse, the glowing red current casting horrible shadows across the cliff faces.

Even from the top of the canyon, the heat was intense. The chill of the River Cocytus hadn't left Sylvie's bones, but now her face felt raw and sunburned. Every breath took more effort, as if her chest was filled with gravel. The cuts on her arms and legs bled more rather than less. Sylvie's foot, which had been healed into a fracture, seemed to be reinjuring itself. She'd taken off the firm wrappings of duct tape, but now she regretted it. Each step made her wince.

Assuming they could make it down to the fiery river, which she doubted, her plan seemed certifiably insane.

"Uh..." Percy examined the cliff. He pointed to a tiny fissure running diagonally from the edge of the bottom. "We can try that ledge there. Might be able to climb down."

He didn't say they'd be crazy to try. He managed to sound hopeful. Sylvie was grateful for that, but she also worried she was leading him to his doom.

Of course, if they stayed here, they would die anyway. Blisters had started to form on their arms from exposure to the Tartarus air. The whole environment was about as healthy as a nuclear blast zone.

Percy went first. The ledge was barely wide enough to allow a toehold. Their hands clawed from any crack in the glassy rock. Every time Sylvie put pressure on her bad leg, she let out a groan of agony.

A few steps below her, Percy grunted as he struggled for another handhold. His hands were slippery from the blood pouring out of them. "So... what is this river called?"

"Uh, the Phlegethon," she said. "You should concentrate on going down."

"The Phlegethon?" He shinnied along the ledge. They'd made it roughly a third of the way down the cliff—still high enough up to die if they fell. "Sounds like a marathon for hawking spitballs."

"Please don't make me laugh," she said.

"Just trying to keep things light."

"Thanks," she grunted, nearly missing the ledge with her bad foot. "When I plummet to my death, I'll die with a smile."

They kept going, one step at a time. Sylvie's eyes stung. She had begun to sweat. Her arms trembled. But to her amazement, they finally made it to the bottom of the cliff.

When she reached the ground, she stumbled. Percy caught her. She was alarmed by how feverish his skin felt. Red boils had erupted on his face.

Her own vision was blurry. Her throat felt blistered, and her stomach was clenched tighter than a fist. They had to hurry.

"Looks like third cliff's a charm," Percy told her.

"We're not safe yet," she told Percy, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "Let's get to the river."

They staggered over slick glass ledges, around massive boulders, avoiding stalagmites that would've impaled them with any slip of the foot. Their tattered date clothes steamed from the heat of the river, but they kept going until they crumpled to their knees at the banks of the Phlegethon.

"We've gotta drink," Sylvie said.

Percy swayed, his eyes half-closed. It took him a three-count to respond. "Uh... drink fire?"

"My—My powers from Mnemosyne are helpin' me know these things. The Phlegethon flows... from Hades's realm down to Tartarus." Sylvie could barely talk. Her throat was closing up from the heat and the acidic air. "The river's used to—to punish the wicked. But also... some legends call it the River of Healin'."

"Some legends?"

Sylvie swallowed, trying to stay conscious. "The Phlegethon keeps the, uh, wicked in one piece so that they can endure the torments of the Fields of Punishment. I think... it might be the Underworld equivalent of ambrosia and nectar."

Percy winced as cinders sprayed from the river, curling around his face. "But it's fire. How can we—"

"Like this." Sylvie thrust her hands into the river.

Stupid? Yes. But she was convinced they had no choice. If they waited any longer, they would pass out and die. Better to try something foolish and hope it worked.

On first contact, the fire wasn't painful. It felt cold, which probably meant it was so hot it was overloading Sylvie's nerves. Before she could change her mind, she cupped the fiery liquid in her palms and raised it to her mouth.

She expected a taste like gasoline. It was so much worse. A few years ago, her Uncle Emerson got really hyper-fixated on learning how to grow the perfect ghost chili peppers. He'd had Sylvie try one once. After barely nibbling it, she thought her respiratory system was going to implode. Drinking from the Phlegethon was like gulping down a ghost chili smoothie. Her sinuses filled with liquid flame. Her mouth felt like it was being deep-fried. Her eyes shed boiling tears, and every pore on her face popped.

She collapsed, gagging and retching, her whole body shaking violently.

"Sylvie!" Percy grabbed her arms and just managed to stop her from rolling into the river.

The convulsions passed. She took a ragged breath and managed to sit up. She felt horribly weak and nauseous, but her next breath came more easily. The blisters on her arms were starting to fade.

"It worked," she croaked. "Perce, you've gotta drink."

"I..." His eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped against her.

Desperately, she cupped more fire in her palm. Ignoring the pain, she dripped the liquid into Percy's mouth. He didn't respond.

She tried again, pouring a whole handful down his throat. This time he spluttered and coughed. Sylvie held him as he trembled, the magical fire coursing through his system. His fever disappeared. His boils faded. He managed to sit up and wrinkle his nose.

"Ugh," he said. "Spicy, yet disgusting."

Sylvie laughed weakly. She was so relieved, she felt light-headed. "Yeah. That pretty much sums it up."

"You saved us."

"For now," she said. "We're still in Tartarus."

Sylvie felt struck by her own words. Percy blinked, looking as if he felt the same. They looked around, just now coming to terms with where they were. Sylvie never thought—well, she wasn't sure what she thought. Maybe that Tartarus was empty space, a pit with no bottom. But this was a real space.

They both gazed up at the blood-colored clouds swirling in the gray haze. No way would they have the strength to climb back up that cliff, even if they wanted to. Now there were only two choices: downriver or upriver, skirting the banks of the Phlegethon.

"We'll find a way out," Percy said. "The Doors of Death."

Sylvie shuddered. She remembered what Percy had said just before they fell into Tartarus. He'd made Nico di Angelo promise to lead the Argo II to Epirus, to the mortal side of the Doors of Death.

We'll see you there, Percy had said.

The idea seemed even crazier than drinking fire. How could the two of them wander through Tartarus and find the Doors of Death? They'd barely been able to stumble a hundred yards in this poisonous place without dying.

"We have to," Percy said. "Not just for us. For everybody we love. The Doors have to be closed on both sides, or the monsters will just keep coming through. Gaea's forces will overrun the world."

Sylvie knew he was right. Still... the task seemed impossible. They had no way of locating the Doors. They didn't know how much time it would take, or even if time flowed at the same speed in Tartarus. How could they possibly synchronize a meeting with their friends? And Nico had mentioned a legion of Gaea's strongest monsters guarding the Doors on the Tartarus side. Sylvie and Percy couldn't exactly launch a frontal assault.

She decided not to mention any of that. They both knew the odds were bad. Besides, after swimming in the River Cocytus, Sylvie had heard enough whining and pessimism to last a lifetime. She promised herself never to complain again.

"Well." She took a deep breath, grateful at least that her lungs didn't hurt. "If we stay close to the river, we'll have a way to heal ourselves. Maybe we should go downstream. The river probably comes from the upper levels of the Underworld. It should flow deeper into Tartarus—"

"So it leads into more dangerous territory," Percy finished. "Which is probably where the Doors are. Lucky us."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

They'd only traveled a few hundred yards when Sylvie heard voices. Sylvie limped as she plodded along—the Phlegethon had helped her ankle, but it was still moderately sprained. It didn't help that her stomach was growling and her throat was baking. No amount of fire she drank would do anything for her hunger or thirst.

The river wasn't about making you feel good, Sylvie realized. It just kept you going so you could experience more excruciating pain.

Her head started to droop with exhaustion. Then she heard them—female voices having some sort of argument—and she was instantly alert.

She whispered, "Perce, down!"

She pulled him behind the nearest boulder, weighing herself so close against the riverbank that her shoes almost touched the river's fire. On the other side, in the narrow path between the river and the cliffs, the voices snarled, getting louder as they approached from upstream.

Sylvie tried to steady her breathing. The voices sounded vaguely human, but that meant nothing. She assumed anything in Tartarus was their enemy. She didn't know how the monsters could have failed to spot them already. Besides, monsters could smell demigods—especially powerful ones like Percy and Sylvie, children of the eldest Olympians. Sylvie doubted that hiding would do any good when the monsters caught their scent.

Still, as the monsters got nearer, their voices didn't change in tone. Their uneven footsteps—scrap, clump, scrap, clump—didn't get any faster.

"Soon?" one of them asked in a raspy voice, as if she'd been gargling in the Phlegethon.

"Oh my gods!" said another voice. This one sounded much younger and more human, like a teenage mortal girl getting exasperated with her friends at the mall. For some reason, she sounded familiar to Sylvie. "You guys are totally annoying! I told you, it's like three days from here."

Percy gripped Sylvie's hand. He looked at her with alarm, as if he recognized the mall girl's voice too.

There was a chorus of growling and grumbling. The creatures—maybe half a dozen, Sylvie guessed—had paused just on the other side of the boulder, but still, they gave no indication that they'd caught the demigods' scent. Sylvie wondered if demigods didn't smell the same in Tartarus, or if the other scents here were so powerful, they masked a demigod's aura.

"I wonder," said a third voice, gravelly and ancient like the first, "if perhaps you do not know the way, young one."

"Oh, shut your fang hole, Serephone," said the mall girl. "When's the last time you escaped to a mortal world? I was there a couple of years ago. I know the way! Besides, I understand what we're facing up there. You don't have a clue!"

"The Earth Mother did not make you boss!" shrieked a fourth voice.

More hissing, scuffling, and feral shrieks—like giant alley cats fighting. At last, the one called Serephone yelled, "Enough!"

The scuffling died down.

"We will follow for now," Serephone said. "But if you do not lead us well, if we find you have lies about the summons of Gaea."

"I don't lie!" snapped the mall girl. "Believe me, I've got good reason to get into this battle. I have some enemies to devour, and you'll feast on the blood of heroes. Just leave one special morsel for me—the one named Percy Jackson."

Sylvie fought down a snarl of her own. She forgot about her fear. She wanted to jump over the boulder and slash the monsters to dust with her daggers... except she only had one now.

"Believe me," said the mall girl. "Gaea has called us, and we're going to have so much fun. Before this war is over, mortals and demigods will tremble at the sound of my name—Kelli!"

Sylvie almost gasped aloud. She glanced at Percy. Even in the red light of the Phlegethon, his face seemed waxy.

Empousai, she mouthed.

Percy nodded grimly.

She remembered Kelli. Two years ago, at Percy's freshman orientation, he and their friend Rachel Dare had been attacked by empousai disguised as cheerleaders. One of them had been Kelli. Later, the same empousa had attacked them in Daedalus's workshop. Sylvie had stabbed her in the back and sent her... here. To Tartarus.

The creatures shuffled off, their voices getting fainter. Sylvie crept to the edge of the boulder and risked a glimpse. Sure enough, five women staggered along on mismatched legs—mechanical bronze on the left, shaggy and cloven-hooved on the right. Their hair was made of fire, their skin as white as bone. Most of them wore tattered Ancient Greek dresses, except for the one in the lead, Kelli, who wore a burned and torn blouse with a short skirt. Her cheerleader's outfit.

Percy rose. "They're heading for the Doors of Death," he murmured. "You know what this means?"

Sylvie didn't want to think about it, but sadly, this squad of flesh-eating horror-show women might be the closest thing to good luck they were going to get in Tartarus.

"Yeah," she said. "We need to follow them."

╰━━━ ◦ ✸ ◦ ✸ ◦ ━━━╯

BAILEY YAPS...

Hi guys we are so back. For better or for worse, we are so back

(An angel dies every time I remember Persylv's still wearing the clothes from their date in Rome that ended in Sylvie telling him "You mean nothing to me.")  

Everyone please send your condolences and pay your respects to Cereal :(((( Rest in peace. Gone too soon. You didn't deserve that. You were so young. Only 6 years old 💔💔💔💔

Please, universe. Take all of Sylvie Duvall's pain, quadruple it, and give it to wattpad user KJ leoslcve :///