Asclepius missed his mother.
Missed her gentle smile and the way the pearls woven into her clothing and hair would clink together like little rain droplets. Missed how her dark curls would tickle his cheek or her laugh would warm his heart. Missed how she would take his hands and dance with him as his father smiled down on them in genuine joy.
He would wrap himself in stolen items and imagine even after all these centuries they still smelled like her. Would got to the monument his father had built in her honor on his home in Olympus.
But at least he had things to remind him of his mother.
Asclepius missed his sister.
Missed Sofiaâs fierce protectiveness. The way her brows would scrunch when he or Dionysus would say something incredibly stupid. Missed how when he was young she would tie cloth so he could curl close to her as she used a walking stick to steady herself. Missed how she would brush his curls and hum gentle songs when he was sad. How sheâd sit and allow him to bounce ideas off her, giving advice when needed and staying quiet when she knew he could figure it out on his own. Missed how she would dance barefoot and her smile would become vicious before she verbally eviscerated someone.
Zeus had banned any statues being made in her image after her death, stating it would bastardize her birth to sculpt her likeness after death. Asclepius couldnât help but think he feared her coming to be once more.
It didnât help that Sofia had never sat still long enough to be painted more than a handful of times. Sheâd always been on the move, as though she knew her time was short. Asclepius had attributed that to the Elder Python bite sheâd gotten when she turned fifteen and her body had stopped aging as well due to the precarious balance it took to keep it from burning through her ichor and the Styx waters in her veins.
Her personal effects had been destroyed long ago by the Romanâs when theyâd attempted to chain her before father had stepped in. Alas, it had been too late. The Romanâs retaliated by minimizing any myths involving her. Removing her name from her various achievements. If they could not have her they would ensure no one would remember her.
It had left Asclepius with precious little to remember his older sister. The middle of his motherâs godly children. The only one born a god, the only one born a girl.
He stared at Percy Jackson lying prone on the bed, the scorpion strike in the exact place his mother had once held a scar. Blinked at the little blonde girl who refused to love from her bedside, screeching and scratching when someone tried to move her.
The longing deepened.
@chaoticdumbassrogue now Asclepius is going through it. MWAHAHAHHAHA















