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Medusa’s relationship with her curse was undeniably a strained one. It took her years to grow accustomed to it, let alone learn the intricacies of what the curse entailed. One particular part of her curse was her snakes—an angry nest of serpents that now resided atop her head, in turn of the long, chestnut locks she so adored. She first thought the snakes were mere manifestations of the curse, soulless entities with a singular purpose: to repulse any man or woman who was foolishly brave enough to look in her direction.
It soon appeared that it could have been farther from the truth. As time went on, the serpents began… expressing themselves. It started off as different tones of hissing, a sound she could never find reprieve from. As much as she tried to cover her ears and keep herself distracted, the incessant hissing was too prevalent to be ignored. It was almost as if the snakes were trying to grasp the fact that they were brought to life, trying to understand what they are and what their purpose is. What they wanted.
Angry and confused, they thrashed around on the serpentine woman’s head, bumping into her face, grazing her bronzed skin with sharp fangs made to cause great pain. Naturally, Medusa wasn’t pleased with what was happening, growing frustrated with them, which in turn caused a chain reaction. Her frustration, reflecting upon the serpents as they only got more riled up, slowly drove her crazy.
The first revelation she discovered was their behavior and reactions. To her, to outside stimuli, although it seemed they were much more receptive to the way she was feeling, like she was the priority defining factor. When overcome with annoyance, her irritation was amplified by stuttering hisses; the snakes’ movements slowed to a certain flow, directed at the object of dis-tress. When overcome with anger or defensiveness, the serpents would flare up aggressively, outstretching as far ahead as they could, akin to a protective manner. Fangs bared and golden, beady eyes filled with the unspoken rage the cursed woman possessed. They also seemed to respond to her feelings of insecurity and despair. Huddling close to her scalp and face, offering meager attempts at comfort that were far beyond her understanding yet oddly comforting.
It was a surprise to her when she realized they could also grow hungry. The way she found out was far from pleasant, as well. It happened one day when she was in the middle of gnawing on a little animal she managed to catch outside the confines of her cave back in the Old World. An unfortunate rabbit that got caught crossing her path was quick to meet its end when sharp fangs dug past the hide and into flesh, ripping and tearing without remorse. Blood dripped down her chin, golden eyes clouded over in her hungering frenzy.
At first, it was little nibbles on her skin, which she ignored, chalking it up to the snakes rejoicing in her hunt, unable to contain themselves with the thrill of a successful catch. It was when the small, demanding nibbles turned into sharper, more forceful nicks that she paused, irritation crossing her scaled features. Medusa tried swatting them away, only to be met with retaliation as the serpents freaked out, throwing a fit of hisses. They started thrashing about, some even landing successful bites straight at the sides of her face—one of them latched onto her neck, causing the woman to growl out in pain. Confused and rightfully frightened, she dropped the remnants of the rabbit to the ground, fingers coming up to grasp the aggressive snake by its neck, loosening up its jaw with a single press of her fingers so she could pull its fangs out of her neck.
Lost, she tried to brainstorm through her still prevalent haze of starvation about what on Olympus had gotten into those blasted reptiles. Moreover, what was she supposed to even do in this situation? It wasn’t like she could talk to them and ask them what was wrong.
To her relief, the answer presented itself, as the adjacent snakes seemed drawn to the blood on her fingers. Still holding onto the singular serpent that had attacked her, she watched them from the corner of her eye with confusion, greedy forked tongues fighting over each other to get a taste of blood. Medusa observed the scene in silence, the gears turning in her head as a morbid realization slowly crept up on her.
"You're... hungry, too?”
The inquiry was met with enthusiastic hisses; the agitation was still present, but the attacks had ceased, if only for a moment. Unsure, she reached down for the remnants of the carcass, giving it a skeptical look before lifting it up above her face. Within matters of seconds, she could feel the ravenous bites of her hungering snakes, tearing into her leftovers almost like they’d been starving for ages. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Growing silent, she drew back her hands in front of her once the commotion seemed to quell, staring down at a pile of nearly clean bones, only miniscule bits and pieces of stray flesh clinging to the remains.
This was worse than she thought. It wasn’t only her who was cursed with this insatiable hunger that drove her mad. The snakes were in the exact same predicament as her. Part of her. Part of the curse. Medusa felt her stomach sink and her gut twist as she attempted to digest this new information.
“I’ve starved you all this time…”
She whispered, eyes downcast into the ground, an expression of sadness gracing her scaled features.
“I’m sorry…”
It wasn’t their fault they were brought into this existence against their will. Just as her curse was bestowed on her against her will. It wasn’t her fault, and yet she had to live with the consequences.
Feeding herself was already a tedious task; the hunger was always there, lurking at the back of her mind like a voice that never ceased whispering, compelling her to commit unspeakable acts. Acts she was powerless against. And now she had even more mouths to feed.
A shaky breath escaped her lips as she dropped the rabbit bones on the ground, her hand moving up in a slow motion, reaching towards her mildly calmed snakes. She flinched a little as tiny tongues poked at her skin, curious and more friendly. Explorative in a way; she had never tried to touch them before. She’d barely even seen them, for she hadn’t sought out her reflection ever since Lady Athena condemned her to her fate.
Maybe it was time that changed.
“I’ll do better from now on. I promise.”
As if understanding her words, the quiet promise was accepted, cold scaled heads nudging her fingers in what she could only understand as mutual agreement.
It was hard to adapt to this new revelation. She had to hunt for more than just herself. Often, it took her nearly all day just to be able to catch enough for all of them. Medusa was no hunter in her prior life; being a devoted priestess, she lacked the need for skilled hunting. Something she began regretting about not learning when she had the chance—now there was nobody to teach her. Nobody is willing enough to come within ten feet of her, let alone remain in her monstrous presence.
Medusa had to learn on her own, and by no means was it easy. There were nights she’d spend curled up in her cave, her stomach razing her insides just because she let her prey slip from her grasp. Muttering profuse apologies to her serpents, who were just as unhappy as her, restlessly coiling between each other, hungering.
It took her even longer to begin bonding with the curse-born creatures. She was no Goddess of the Hunt; she couldn’t simply speak to them, which would have made things so much easier for her. Made her feel less alone, too.
But the snakes were all she had at that point. Only willing company—not that they exactly had a choice.
She began by attempting to handle them more often, offering her hand for them to explore and familiarize themselves with. The first instance of differentiating personalities she’d noticed were the varying levels of affection each snake demonstrated. Some were more skittish and unreceptive to her touch, but a handful looked almost eager. Leaning into the warmth of her palm, accepting her advances. Medusa carefully curled her finger, gently scratching one of the serpents under its chin. To her surprise and mild amusement, the creature let out a pleased hiss, wiggling in delight.
What she wasn’t expecting was the chain reaction that action would create. Almost as if driven by minor jealousy, the handful of snakes that were closer to her hand began hissing incessantly, demanding the same attention to be shared amongst them. The corners of her extended lips curled upward at the uproar.
“Don’t worry, little ones; you will all get your turn.”
To uphold her promise, Medusa spent nearly an entire hour feeling around for her snakes, guided by their greedy snouts bumping into her hands, quite loudly asking for the affection she’d neglected them for so long. Time became irrelevant, dissipating without her knowledge as she put her full focus on tending to each and every one of her serpents. In a way, it provided a sensible distraction, tearing away her thoughts from that lingering sense of hunger that tormented her every waking moment.
It didn’t take long for this occurrence to mold into something more of a ritual. Especially during the early hours of her rising with the first rays of the sun. Medusa ensured every serpent received a scratch under its chin and a tap on their snout for the less affectionate ones of the bunch. This sort of ritual before going to sleep and after waking up created an illusion of normalcy.
There was nothing normal about her interactions; the snakes were nothing more than a by-product of a curse, and yet she found herself treating them like they were her own children. Caring for them, feeding them, and ensuring she wasn’t pressing down on them too hard when she’d lay her head down. It was the only company she had, and she was determined to find a way to coexist with it on as good terms as possible.
Medusa found herself talking to them more as time went on. Despite the serpents being unable to cohesively respond, she listened for the distinct shifts in the noises they made, judging their reaction based on mere sound alone. There was the aggressive hissing whenever she’d find herself in a position of distress or in a potentially dangerous situation. There was the content, drawled-out hissing whenever she fed, indicating the serpents were sated for the time being. Then there was the stuttery hissing, alerting her to their confusion, one mirroring her own at times. Her favorite were the little chirps the snakes would make whenever she’d give them attention, or on the occasion they would grow tired, their movements languid and sloppy.
While Medusa struggled with accepting the curse—that this was her new life now—there were barely any second thoughts when it came to accepting her serpents. That small scar residing just underneath her chin served as a mere reminder of her ignorance, of the time she neglected them to the point they felt the need to make their disapproval known. She held no ill-will to-wards the creatures; after all, they just wanted to survive just as much as she did, however difficult that task might end up being. She saw them as more than just mere beings forced to exist alongside her. They were her friends, her loyal companions, her children.
It would only be fitting to enclose their bond by giving each of them a name.
Medusa reached up into her nest of coiling snakes, a rare ghost of a smile crossing her monstrous features as multiple snouts rubbed against her palm, content.
“I think it’s time I gave you all proper names, mm?”
Her inquiry sparked a small commotion, an excited hissing filling the vacancy in her cave. The serpents were more than on board with the idea. She figured they’d grow tired of her addressing them with little terms of endearment, and she had just the idea of giving them the last piece of the puzzle for their individuality. Her fingers wrapped around a particular serpent, let-ting it rest in her palm.
“You, sweet one, will be Euryale.”
Receiving no audible opposition from the creature, she hummed with satisfaction, moving on to the adjacent serpent.
“Oh, you’ve got fire in you, feisty one. You shall be... Stheno.”
The snake flares up with pride, barely containing itself within her gentle grasp. It elicits a chuckle from her, the excitement from her serpents beginning to slowly rub off on her.
Her fingers grazed along one of the calmer snakes, which wasn’t too expressive with its actions yet leaning into her caresses just the same.
Medusa can feel her heart swell with unspoken affection as she pets the snake a bit longer than the others.
“You strike me as a Delphyne."
The serpentine woman waits patiently, lingering around for a reaction. After all, she wasn’t going to give them a name they didn’t appear to like. After some moments of consideration, the snake chirps to her relief.
Medusa spent the next hour deciding on the names for her serpents with their input, though there were only a handful of troublemakers that took a few tries until she found a name they approved of.
Even though she could barely see them normally, unless they rubbed up along the side of her face, there had been plenty of time for her to learn to discern them by their behaviors and the sounds they made.
Now, she had names to put to each and every one of them. Delphyne, the sweetest out of the bunch and overly affectionate. Stheno, the fiery serpent, always made her protests known by being the loudest hisser in the nest of snakes. Naga, the docile peacemaker of the vipers’ nest, often being the mediator between the rowdier snakes. Ophiuchus, the mischievous trouble-maker, the main perpetrator of the problematic trio. He always found ways to betray her, ex-pressing her emotions for her when she worked so hard to keep them hidden. Asclepius and Caduceus, troublemakers in the making. They often followed Ophiuchus’ example, making her life just a bit harder than it should have been, but she found she wouldn’t trade their little tirades of mischief for anything else. And lastly, Euryale, her closest companion and advisor, was always the first one to snuggle up by her side at the smallest signs of distress within the cursed woman.
There was a certain point in time when she thought she had gone completely mad. Giving the byproducts of her curse names, coming up with their personalities, talking to them, playing with them, and so on. What sane person would dedicate their time of day so religiously to appease some reptiles?
Then again, no person would remain sane if they went through what Medusa has been put through. The snakes were her rocks, her family. The only things that kept her grounded and kept her from going insane on her own for centuries to come.
Medusa was as much a part of them as the serpents were a part of her.
Intertwined.