Gorgon

Let me tell you a story, a story that happened a long long time ago, in a much different world, a story of a woman cursed. In the days when gods were still worshipped, days when temples were still sacred and to be protected, days when no one seemed to understand. So listen, whoever you may be reading this, for this is the true story of the monster that is Medusa.

She is painfully aware of her kneecaps pressing into the rough stone floor, shifting her weight ever so slightly from one aching knee to the other, careful so as not to catch the attention of the other priestesses. She always wobbles after the 5th hour of prayer. Surely such a loving goddess as Athena wouldn’t wish for me to injure myself in this way. Resentful thoughts like this often linger in her mind but still, she stays. The priestesses have been good to her, well, for the most part, they took her in when she was left in the cold when her parents couldn’t afford her anymore and put her on the temple altar to be found. They didn’t have to take me, they could’ve let me die but Athena is merciful. She closes her eyes and makes a stronger effort to bear the pain that is required of her. After what feels like an eternity the high priestess rises from her position in front of the glorious golden statue of Athena. A towering warrior goddess dripping in the finest chiton ever sculpted. The goddess had watched over the priestesses for as long as she could remember. “Nefeli! Rise now in your goddess’s light and perform your duties!” the high priestess commanded and snapped Nefeli out of her thoughts, she tilts her head to acknowledge the command and brings her feet back underneath her. She can feel her joints screaming, tomorrow’s chores will be the worst but then the pain will fade, she stands shaking but composed.

She gratefully takes the bowl of bone broth, the first thing she has consumed all day. She goes to retrieve the straw broom from the cupboard. She whistles as she sweeps, brushing the day off of the stone before filling the worn clay pot with suds and water. Then her poor knees get yet another beating as she sinks to the stone to wash the goddess’s floor. After scrubbing every inch of the floor on her hands and knees, she stretches up to the sky. There’s only one chore left now and it’s her favorite, Athena, are you ready for your bath? Taking the soapy water and making sure it is warm she washes the statue slowly, taking her time to truly bathe her goddess. As she finishes the washing, she hears heavy footsteps approaching and calls out behind her, “Don’t step on my freshly cleaned floor!” without turning around she bends to pick up the bucket of now dirty water, but it dumps on the floor when a man who smells like the sea grabs her and pins her down. She can’t bring herself to look in his eyes that shift like an ocean storm. She tries to scream out but is quickly gagged by salt-tinged fingers sliding down her throat. Tears well up in her eyes from the pain he is bringing her, she tilts her head back to gaze at her goddess’s face taking a slight comfort in not being alone. As she stares the image blurs through her tears and she swears she can see Athena moving, her face so perfectly sculpted, now shifting into a face of disgust, contorted in an intense grimace of pain. With this, the statue moves, in clean fluid steps as if never made from metal at all. She grabs the man, the god, her eyes alight with grey fire. “Brother, you have gone too far this time, to take one of my own priestesses on my very altar. You will be tried for your disrespect in front of Zeus himself. Now be gone from my sacred city, back to the water where you belong.” With those words that dripped with authority from her blessed mouth, the god melted into a puddle that seeped into the floor and left no trace but for the faint scent of the sea.

Nefeli couldn’t help but stare at her goddess as she was scooped up in the warm arms that she had spent so long taking care of, now flesh and blood, warming the chill he had left in her bones. Hours passing, Nefeli weeping cradled in Athena’s arms, as Athena was stroking her hair reminding her that she is safe and loved. When Athena decides to break the silence her voice is soft and light, “My child, my love, I will give you a gift so that no man may ever hurt you again, but you must leave my temple silently without anyone gazing upon you, you must slip away to leaveーalone but safe, and I will visit you as your companion. Please take my gift so I never have to see you this hurt again”. Nefeli lifts her hand to her goddess’s face and leans forward to press their foreheads together before she whispers in a cracked voice, “I accept your gift, my divine. I will take from you whatever you so choose to bestow.” Athena takes Nefeli’s hands in her own and draws them to their feet. Her eyes start to glow again with grey fire that then travels swirling down her arms unto Nefeli’s, and it hurts but she just stares into Athena’s burning eyes and lets herself be engulfed by the blaze. The fire eats away at her skin, and her eyes, and her hair, leaving behind a scaly and tough exterior, with eyes of amber pierced with black slits, and her hair! Her hair writhed wildly atop her head, craning, and reaching, and squirming. A live nest of snakes tangled upon each other as a crown, as her protection. Finally, the burning stops, and the pain is replaced by the cooling relief of Athena’s embrace, and Nefeli, as unsure and unsteady as a foal, has been born again. “Rise and accept your new name,” Athena breaks the silence, “Medusa, the Guardian. Medusa, the Protectress.” Medusa stands in all her newfound gloryーhalo of serpents framing her face, and she is beautiful, more so than ever before. “Go now my child, before any shall happen to gaze upon your gift,” Athena says as her statue resolidifies standing tall on her altar. Medusa caresses the statue, “Thank you,” leaving a kiss on the golden forehead, she slips away into the night, away from her adoptive home towards someplace new, someplace quiet.

It doesn’t take Medusa long to learn exactly what her new gift is, while she is searching for her new home, she comes across a group of bandits. “Hey there beautiful what are you doing out here all alone? Come on, why don’t you show us your pretty face, why do you need a scarf to cover it?” They tug and pull at her scarf until it unwraps from her and they try to scream when they see her reptilian features, but as their mouths stretch open, they slow and harden, and all Medusa is left with is stone statues of the bandits each with their face twisted into a look of horror, and Medusa laughs. She laughs and continues on, thanking Athena profusely for such powerful protection. She finds a cave large as a hut with a dry floor and this is where she stays.

Years have gone by since Medusa found her home and the front of the cave is messily decorated with a garden of horribly twisted expressions that have been frozen in stone. Inside it is clean and warm, and she whistles as she sweeps, she holds up morsels of rat flesh to feed each head of her hair. Athena has not come to see me in so long. I hope all is well. She pushes the worry out of her mind, who is she to worry about a goddess anyway? When she finishes her cleaning for the day she trails her fingers across the spines of the books Athena has been helping her collect over the years. She has some that she has yet to read, but she pauses at one of the most worn bindings and slides it out of its place on the shelf. Reading is one of the few hobbies she can afford to continue, this story is always her favorite. While she is lost in the words and the world that they have built, there is rustling in her garden.

Ambrosia stumbles forward between the chunks of misshapen stone, hands dragging across each form, eyes wide, and scared, flitting back and forth, she is out of breath. She has run up the hill looking for safety. The shouts of the men who chased her startle Medusa from the world of words. She looks up to find the most gorgeous face she has ever seen. Ambrosia’s pale eyes are still searching and her whole body shakes with every breath. There’s a gleam of sweat across her skin, leaving the surface glistening a warm umber. Medusa screeches with fear that she, the monster the men all make her out to be, has frozen this beauty by mistake but soon her anxiety ebbs when Ambrosia stays breathing and trembling, seemingly staring right at her. The men smash through the garden goading Medusa to come out and to give them back their prize, a poor blind girl from the village down the hill. Ambrosia’s heart stops, as she realizes exactly where she has found shelter, she backs herself flat against a wall, hopeful not to draw the attention of the monster she has heard so much about. Medusa’s rage climbs as she pulls her full ferocious form from within the cave. The men are too drunk to even think of running before they too are added to the collection of frozen fearful faces.

Medusa is cautious about reentering the cave, she finds Ambrosia crammed up against the wall struggling to breathe as quietly as she can. Medusa walks away to warm up some of the bone broth she was sipping this morning. As the broth is steaming over the fire, Medusa cannot help but stare at the breathtaking girl. She ladles a portion into one of her crude clay bowls and walks slowly towards Ambrosia, holding the bowl in front of her as a peace offering. Ambrosia’s hands brush against something firm yet warm, a bowl, she thinks, her stomach gurgling, the creature’s broth cannot be worse than starving, so she lifts the bowl slowly to her lips to take a small sip of the broth. The warmth on her tongue flows down through her aching muscles, bringing with it a respite from the tension she has held for so long. Medusa guides her gently to her own bed where Ambrosia finishes the last of the gift she was given and tentatively lays down. It is now that Medusa first speaks, “You can rest here, I will watch over you, no harm will befall you while you are in my home and under my care.” Her voice is cool and deep, unsteady as a foal from disuse yet smooth as ever. Ambrosia nods sinking into the bed, that is not at all the voice of a monster, she thinks fading into the black depths of sleep to dream of what her heroine looks like, with a voice such as that she must be so stunning.

So that is part of the story of the great monster Medusa, though I’m sure you all know how it ends, or you think you do anyway. Ambrosia dared not return home and chose to stay with her gentle-voiced savior, Athena did visit one last time only to give a sweet parting and wish them luck on their lives together, and as for Medusa, well I lived long enough to see empires rise and fall and lovers come and go and just long enough to write this story perhaps with more to come.