hazel { four } finished

they called her hazel
for the colour
for her mother.

they called her annabeth
for her aunt
for her grandmother.

and she lives by the docks in one of those fancy houses for the kids with parents who have it good. the ones with silver spoons and silver hair (because it's cool, apparently, she laughs behind her hands) and they tell her she's lucky. they tell her she's smart, too, and she knows it. she likes puzzles, building, winter fog and stormy grey skies. three brothers and a father live in that fancy house and they get by just fine. she remembers dancing in the kitchen with a woman that laughed and hiding in her bedroom closet when it all became too much.

they called her hazel
for birthdays and roll calls
and the first thing she learnt to spell.

they called her annabeth
for formalities
and tributes to faces long-gone.

career training was never for her but she loved to craft their weapons with her bare hands. there was something beautiful about holding destruction between her fingers, like she held the switch of someone's life for a mere moment. filled with her own sparks of life she built toy boats and swing-sets and spears, all the same to her. then death touched her soul for a second and she set her creations aside. how silly of her to think she could play god in her own home.

they called her hazel
for her father's eyes
that wept the day she took her first breath.

they called her annabeth
for the ghosts that watched over her with open arms
but took her mother instead.