"It's not working," she says, her voice very soft. She massages her throat, staring at the cup. She knows it doesn't have anything to do with the pitch or the force of the notes. She moves shit all the time, whether she's trying to annoy her aunt or is just too lazy to get up and get the textbook she left across the room.

Athena takes a shaky breath and tries again, this time sustaining the note longer, rising in volume as fuckall happens. She can feel it. It's there. It's like brushing her fingertips against something out of reach except when something is out of reach she just fucking moves it oh god oh god--

Athena claps a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed. "It's not fucking working. My ritual, it's not working."