Medusa

Before the serpents coiled.

Before the cavern was claimed as her dwelling.

Before men, trembling beneath crested helms, came with swords raised in fear rather than valor.

There was a mortal woman, Medusa, far-famed for her mystical gaze.

Her eyes were no rarity, brown like rain-darkened bark. Yet men floundered, flocked, desired, and enjoyed. And women admired, envied, raged, and ignored.

While she was a woman of great beauty, her looks were the least spoken of. Hushed words spoke not of the hue of her eyes, but of the steadiness inside.

In the temple of Athena, she watched those who prayed, passing judgement in silence. Within that sacred palace, she felt like God—the highest of authority, keeping order of the temple. Her posture held modesty; her gaze held superiority.

Most couldn’t maintain contact; her eyes held the power many mortals sought. It made her more arrogant.

Then, he came—Poseidon, God of the Sea.

She stood alone that day, before the statue of Athena. Her luscious hair, usually kept in its natural bush of curls, was braided. Her commanding gaze was softer, now that no one was there. Athena’s shield, freshly polished, rested against the marble.

Many accounts have been told of this day—only two are true.

He was charming, at first. Handsome. She didn’t want him, not like he wanted her. He defiled her before the statue of Athena, the act reflected in the Goddess’ shield. She was forced to see it all, unallowed to look away.

After the assault, he left satisfied and she was left ruined.

She sat up numbly. She waited in silence.

Athena arrived soon after, fuming; her sacred palace was desecrated. However, seeing the mortal woman in such a state, the rage left. Punishment had to be delivered, nonetheless—no mortal was allowed to do these acts, willing or otherwise.

Medusa was sent elsewhere, forever transformed mentally and physically.

For a long time, she didn’t do much. Barely ate, barely slept, and never registered the snakes that replaced her curls, not even when they scarred her face in frustration.

Two others were there, cursed like her. They cared about her; she never cared for them.

When she was well enough, she became aware of the stones littering the cavern—lifelike, frozen in terror, all men. She found out what it meant shortly thereafter, when a man wandered in and looked directly into her eyes.

She never despaired whenever it occurred. Because her gaze remained powerful, although it was different. And why would she care for men? A man was why she was there, concealed in darkness instead of living in the light.

But she didn’t fully enjoy it—it wasn’t her choice to kill with a stare, although the looks of terror pleased her tremendously.

She lost track of time. Maybe days passed. Maybe years. And many more stones of terrified men filled her prison.

When Perseus came, she knew it’d be different.

He wasn’t hesitant in his approach. He kept his gaze away. He was far younger than any man that stepped foot there before, but he, like them, carried a blade. In his hand was Athena’s shield, last seen the day her life changed.

Flashes of what happened filled her mind. She looked away from him, unable to bear the sight of what she once protected and polished.

Then, she spoke for the first time since her transformation, sounding monstrous, no longer melodic. “What tempts one so young to wander into my cavern of stone? Have you come seeking glory?”

His footsteps faltered—he hadn’t expected a conversation. “The same as any who’ve stood where I stand now.”

She hummed, curiosity taking over. “There’s a tremor beneath your bravado; I hear it coiling in your voice. Something ails you, little hero, something that is not me.”

Silence. Only for a moment.

“A man dares to threaten my mother. He believes he can take what’s hers to give willingly,” was all he said. It was all that needed to be said.

For a second time, she thought back to what happened to her. After some silence and no movement from him, she spoke a final time. “I will aid you. Even as I fall, my power will assist. Heed it well.”

She died looking away from him, her eyes wide open. Even in death, her promise was kept; Perseus turned the cruel man to stone, saving his mother from a fate worse than death.

And when her head was brought to Athena, Medusa’s promise was still kept, protecting mortal women from the horrors she suffered.