At first full of hope and optimism, Thales’ eyes slowly lost their glimmer of hope, while his hand, resting against Medusa’s cheek, turned cold. First his fingers, then down to his palm and wrist. Medusa did not speak, for she could not fathom what she was seeing.
It was Aretaphila who broke the silence with her scream. ‘What have you done? What have you done?’ She moved towards her husband, only to flinch back at the hiss of the serpents, her skin as pale as melted wax.
‘What have you done?’ she said again.
Medusa stared, her eyes still locked on her father, her voice stolen into a whisper.
‘I do not … I did not … Father! Oh, Father!’ She wrapped her arms him, only to find his body cold and hard. Stone.
‘Father, no!’
The pain gave way to tears more acrid than any mortal could endure. They burned on her skin, blinding her again and again. ‘Father! Please!’ She ran her hands across his body. His robe, his chest. Even down to his sandals. Stone, stone and more stone. No fluttering of a heart or quivering of breath. There was no pulse, no life in his eyes.
‘You have cursed us.’ Aretaphila stood with the candle in her hand. She held it outright, as a weapon. ‘You have cursed us all. You’re a monster.’ The blood seamed to drain from Medusa’s head and body. ‘You came here to our home and brought this upon us all. You are no daughter of mine. You are clearly a spawn of Ceto.’
‘Mother, please. It is me. It is Medusa.’
‘Monster!’
‘No, please. I did not mean to do this. I did not know of this. I did not ask for this.’
Earlier in the day, she would have thought it impossible that her heart could be any more broken. But this, her father’s death at her own gaze, her mother’s rejection, was more than any mortal should endure. A pain that shattered all the way through to her soul.
‘You need to leave now.’
‘Mother, please ...’
Without thinking, Medusa raised her head to Aretaphila. She wanted to speak. To plead. To cry. She needed the comfort of a mother’s understanding. Surely, she understood. Medusa would not have wished this upon any person alive, let alone her beloved father, the single soul beneath the sun whom she loved even more than the Goddess herself. Anyone who knew her knew this.
‘Please, Mother, you have to believe me … you have to … you … Mother … Mother?’
She realised her mistake this time, the instant it happened. Her eyes met her mother’s. Even the dense well of tears could offer no protection. Before Medusa could scream, her mother, too, was turned to stone.
‘No!’ Her knees slammed against the earth of the floor as she fell to the ground. ‘No. Mother! Mother!’ Every cell in her body burned and screamed. The squeals of her serpents raw and rancid in the air around her. This was the end for her, for there was no more that she could endure.
A single sound cut through the night, causing the snakes to shrink back against her skull. It came again. The shrill, sharp hoot of a night owl.
A chill spread in ripples across Medusa’s bare skin. Athena was here, Medusa realised. She had been here through it all. Watching. Listening. Medusa sucked down the tears that choked her breath. There was no fight she could win, not against the Goddess. Yet, what did she have left if not her will to fight? Prising herself away from her mother, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and lifted her chin to the sky.
‘Is this what you wished for?’ she called to the sky. ‘Is this how you punish me? These deaths are your doing, not mine.’ She waited for the reply. But none came. If this was how the Goddess wished to play, then so be it, Medusa thought. She was done with games. ‘These are the last lives you will take in my name,’ she whispered to the air.
Across the room, a knife glinted. Used for animals and meat, the heavy blade was sharp but aged, a red crust of dried blood soaked into the hilt. The curse would end now, Medusa said to herself. There would be no more death at her hand. The pounding of her blood provided a battle drum as she crossed the room and reached for it. The serpents hissed, angry and loud, striking her wrist and fingers again and again as she took the object in her hands. They knew what she planned to do, but their instinct was to survive, not to succumb.
With both hands wrapped around the hilt, she lifted the blade upwards. A final sacrifice to the Goddess, she thought to herself. One downwards strike. A single plunge into her stomach. That was all it would take. Then the world would be free from her curse.
‘Sister?’ Medusa’s mind switched instantly back to the room. The blade glimmered inches above her skin. Again, the voice came. ‘Sister, what has happened? Please tell us what has happened. Our parents, why do they not speak? Medusa, talk to us. We know it is you.’ The curtain wavered, fluttering from the pressure of the hand behind it.
‘Stay there!’ Medusa screamed. In her haste to turn, she dropped the blade to the ground. ‘Stay there!’ she called again to her sisters. ‘You must not come out. Do not come out!’
Whimpers, so young and childish, floated through the curtain and pricked a heat behind Medusa’s eyes. Unable to stop herself, she stepped closer, ignoring the fallen blade as she moved towards her siblings. Lungs trembling, she raised her hand and pressed her palm to the fabric.
‘Please forgive me. I am sorry. I am so sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Medusa?’
Through the fabric, another hand met hers. Warmth. Human warmth fanned out through the coarse fibres, burning up her arm and into her ribs.
‘Euryale?’
Silence followed as there was no need for an answer.
