Author's Note. I wrote this a few weeks ago and printed it. Never crossed my mind to post it to Fan Fiction until right now.
I have a soft spot for Calypso, okay? And you know you do, too.
"Tragic, Wonderful Heroes"
She watched in despair as the decrepit wooden raft, which had so many times before sailed away along with her heart, was bobbing lightly over the waves with yet another hero she loved, but could never have. A single tear trickled down her pale cheek, but she didn't wipe it away.
Her eyes were fixated on the sunset ahead, and most importantly, the boy whose form was silhouetted against it. He neither turned back to give her but the smallest of glances, nor did he bid her a final goodbye. Only one thing mattered to him now—home. And in this case, it most definitely was not Ogygia.
Over the years, Calypso had come to realize that no man would ever consider Ogygia his home. No hero would ever come across her island and decide to leave his entire life for her. This fact was made clear so long ago, when she was first banished into this island. Yet though her mind was well aware of it, her heart never chose to give up hope. She always found herself yearning for company, yearning for love—yearning for something, or rather someone, she would never have.
And she'd always found herself hurt in the repetitive process.
It was tragic, but she supposed she deserved it. Being a daughter of Atlas, she'd fought on the Titan's side for the duration of the first Great War. But what choice did she have? He was her father. She couldn't abandon him, despite the fact he'd abandoned her. Vaguely, she wondered if Atlas even remembered her. She assumed he didn't. Bearing the curse of the sky would one quite preoccupied.
So then, no man cared for her. Not even her own father. As she came across this thought, the hero's raft disappeared through the thick mist where the sun kissed the sea. Her own words echoed through her mind: Plant a garden in Manhattan for me, will you? She hoped he wouldn't let her request die like a forgotten promise. She somehow knew, however, that he wouldn't. He just wasn't that brand of person.
Calypso knelt on the raucous sand, the waves washing up on the shore and grazing her knees. The scent of salt water reminded her of Percy. Already, she missed him. For a dreadful moment, she pondered on how his stay in Ogygia might've hurt him as well. As delighted as she should've been to know that he would miss her, she was devastated. It was horrible enough that she had to endure the curse; she didn't like the thought of being a source of pain for another person, too. It was almost too much to bear.
But he'd be all right, she decided. He had his friends, Annabeth and Grover. And his brother, Tyson. He had a life back in the place he'd called Manhattan. He had a destiny to think about, a prophecy to fulfill. He was, no doubt, a hero. He'd forget all about Calypso—maybe not completely, but she would drift far back into his subconscious mind until her existence was no more but a mere faded memory to him.
Whereas all Calypso had was her cursed, beautiful, mesmerizing island, in which she was literally held captive. All she had were her thoughts, which she would never be able to share with anyone, save her occasional, godly visitors and the tragic, wonderful heroes the Fates would send her once every millennium.