[hr][hr][img]https://i.postimg.cc/65z3m7BP/Anissa-Quinn.gif[/img][hr][hr]
[indent]Anissa blinked at the minuscule creature in Anatoliy’s palm, a drab tuft of fur and twitching whiskers, more lint than living thing. The dramatic tension of a moment ago deflated like a popped balloon, and her brow lifted slowly.

“[color=#5a3e85]…So you were talking to a…a rat?[/color]” There was no real malice in her voice, just flat disbelief delivered with the polished dryness of someone who has [i]absolutely[/i] seen weirder things and nevertheless refused to normalize them. Still…the absurdity of her life, including this moment, almost made her smile. Almost.

However, as Anatoliy stumbled through his introduction, Anissa tilted her head, dark waves brushing against her scarf as she studied him like one might study an unfamiliar painting at a gallery: half critical, half intrigued.

“[color=#5a3e85]Anatoliy Voronin, son of Artemis,[/color]” she repeated softly. Her gaze shifted briefly to the gate, then back to him. “[color=#5a3e85]That’s…kind of a mouthful.[/color]” And for a fraction of a second, something flashed behind her dark eyes. 

[i]He knows.[/i]

There was certainty in the way he said it. Ownership. As if the answers to his questions, unlike hers, had come with a concrete name and a divine signature. His godly parent had not chosen riddles and metaphors. Half-truths. An invitation disguised as a warning. No shadows at the foot of his bed. No cryptic dreams where gods remained faceless, pulling the strings from just out of reach. No waking with seawater on the floor and no explanation to offer. The contrast stung more than she wanted to admit.

Not that she planned on revealing that to the boy with the talking rodent.

Instead, Anissa simply tilted her chin just so, sculpting her mouth into a smile. “[color=#5a3e85]Lucky you.[/color]” And nothing more to his confessed worries about entering the camp. They were cute at best, understandable even, but Anissa had long since passed the stage where uncertainty terrified her to such a degree. 

She’d been baptized in the [i]too real[/i] long before the frozen purgatory before her.  It had seeped into her childhood bedroom, where shadows pooled into shapes that whispered her name. It had followed her to school, where locker doors clicked and trembled under unseen fingers, and mirrors in empty bathrooms sometimes reflected blurred, shifting silhouettes that stared too long. She’d pleaded with her mother through tear-clotted lashes, “[color=#5a3e85]Please, let me transfer,[/color]” only to be met with a referral to a therapist who scribbled [i]histrionic[/i] in neat, dismissive cursive. Her classmates’ desks inched away from hers as if her curse were airborne, their giggles sharpening into barbs: [i]Freak. Liar. Ghost girl.[/i]. And after a while,  she’d found herself wearing their scorn like a crown of thorns, sharpening her posture, her wit, her smirk, until she could slice back without flinching.

So yes. Walking through these gates? It was a relief, almost insulting in its triteness. Because at least here, the abnormal like her seemed to wear their truths openly and pretty proudly thus far. 

Her fingers idly adjusted the strap of her satchel when a sharp whistle suddenly shattered the stillness, drawing her back to the present. Anissa winced reflexively, her gaze shifting toward the commotion.

A girl around her age stood near the center of the gathering crowd, dark hair catching stray flecks of snow, her fingers still poised at her lips. “[color=#bd1664]Attention, new campers,[/color]” the stranger called, waving a hand as figures slowly turned toward her.

Anissa watched with faint, detached interest as the girl—Andromeda Bolton, daughter of Hecate—awkwardly introduced herself. Her eyes narrowed as the map board rose from the ground with a flick of her fingers. A soft breath escaped her lips, part resignation, part bitter amusement.

[i][color=#5a3e85]Of course,[/color][/i] Anissa thought. [i][color=#5a3e85]Dramatic entrances and enchanted bulletin boards. Why not add a skywriter next?[/color][/i]

Andromeda’s voice droned through protocols and cabin assignments, but Anissa’s attention snagged on two words only: New Year’s Eve. A party. Her throat constricted. As if anything about this place screamed confetti and cheap champagne. She wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with parties, but they’d become a foreign concept somewhere between her first screaming vision in public and the slow, quiet exile that followed. Sleepovers rescinded. Birthday invites that never came. Even the shallow popularity her looks had once granted her hadn’t been enough to compete with the unease she inspired.

She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear, exhaling. 

[i][color=#5a3e85]Not that I care.[/color][/i]

The girl shifted her weight then, focusing back on the iron gates, their twisted bars now parted like the jaws of some slumbering beast as campers continued to scan their fingers, trickling into the compound. She cast a cursory glance at Anatoliy before hoisting her satchel higher. 

“[color=#5a3e85]Well, I’m going in,[/color]” she declared, already starting to move forward. [/indent][hr] 
Location: Outside Camp Entrance 
Mentions: Andy ([@Mjolnir])
Interactions: Anatoliy ([@The Savant])

Hexcode: [color=#5a3e85]#5a3e85[/color]