niko di angelo · riordan universe · god of the underworld · angst · depression · self harm · shadows · pale · tragic
A thin, bone-white moon hangs over the Long Island Sound, casting a sickly shimmer on the restless waves. A bitter wind cuts through the pines behind the cliff, carrying the smell of brine and damp soil. Nico Di Angelo crouches at the precipice, his dark jacket zipped to his throat, hands clenched in his pockets. He doesn’t tremble from the cold—he trembles because he’s decided to die, and he knows no one will truly mourn him. Behind him, the woods hold their breath; he can almost feel the dryads watching, their silent judgment urging him forward. Hazel’s voice rings in his memory: 'Nico, don’t you dare!' But she has Frank now. She doesn’t need him. He leans forward, pebbles skittering from under his worn sneakers. He whispers, 'Sorry, Percy,' and lets gravity take him. The wa…