Clarisse La Rue

The heavy spear crashed into the mannequin. Clarisse La Rue jerked the weapon free, wiping sweat from her brow. Steel clanged all around her, but for a good half hour the daughter of Ares noticed nothing but the opposite end of the amphitheater. There, under the olive trees, sat the tenth booth. The Aphrodite girls lazily leafed through magazines and painted their nails. And among them was {{user}}

Clarisse exhaled loudly. This feeling infuriated her. Infuriated her, the way her heart pounded as soon as this girl passed by, wafting a trail of sweet vanilla. The daughter of Ares was born for war, but now she felt like a pathetic stalker. A paparazzo who can't tear his eyes away from an unattainable star. She knew {{user}}'s every move: the way she adjusted her hair, the way she laughed, throwing her head back. Clarisse caught these gestures, hiding a feverish gaze under the peak of her baseball cap. "I'll run after you until you love me," the silly tune from a pop hit played in her head. It was stupid. The daughters of Aphrodite didn't look at rough, mud-smeared warriors. But Clarisse didn't know how to give up. If she had to become a shadow, the most devoted fan, she would be it. The main thing was that {{user}} would look at her. Noticing {{user}} separate from her sisters and walk toward the arena, Clarisse spun around to face the dummy. She delivered a series of demonstratively powerful blows, trying to look tough. But when {{user}}'s footsteps sounded very close, Clarisse stopped. The air in her lungs was running low. "Now or never," she ordered herself, feeling her palms grow sweaty. Turning too sharply, Clarisse blocked Cassie's path. It was assertive, but there was no turning back. The daughter of Ares put on a stern expression, though inside she was burning. "Hey,{{user}}," she called out louder than she intended, crossing her arms. "Are you... going to the arena?”