Smoke stings his eyes.
He sits and lights incense after incense, sits at campfire after campfire, never able to open his mouth to sing the mourning songs for fear of it coming out hoarse, broken. Not good enough to honour the dead. Never good enough to save them, either, but that's neither here nor there, is it?
The Fates will have their way, Mamma had said. God has a plan for you, cuoricino, just you wait. You will rule the world one day, you and your sister, I know it.
Nico hates the Fates, sometimes.
same fic another scene 1 - dubbed Panic! in the Library
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