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PROLOGUE
Medusa always knew the Goddess Athena to be a jealous woman, but as a priestess in her court, Medusa had never thought to become the object of the god’s fury. And yet here she lay, completely and utterly ruined, in the cave that was to be her prison.
Newley cursed, she had yet to grow used to the snakes adorning her head, and their constant slithering served fresh salt in her wounds each time they let their presence be known. It would take a long time for her to learn to ignore their hissing. The way they wound over her ears and down her back. Their hot breath on her cheeks and the weight of them on her scalp. But she did not lack in time.
The cave was cold and smelled of rock and petrichor. The harsh stone floor cut into her side as she lay in the same spot she had for days. Her tears had long since dried on her cheeks and now she merely lay as still as a corpse, as if waiting for death to take her away.
Once known to be beautiful, Medusa had been the object of many desires, men and Gods alike. She had revelled in their attention, always dressing in the finest silks and adorning her skin with shining jewellery. She felt no desire for these men in return, but their affections had made her feel important and loved. Now, no one would ever look upon her with adoration again and live to tell the tale. They would all turn to stone once they stared into her eyes, frozen forever in their final moments. Banishment from Mount Olympus was something Medusa could handle, but losing the chance to ever feel the warmth of companionship? Never again being able to feel the heat of another’s skin, to share her thoughts, to feel the comfort of friendship? That was something she grieved deeply. For what is the purpose of a life spent alone? She wasn’t dead, but she believed that she would never again be truly alive.
.
Elena’s carriage ride through the woods felt more like she was being shaken in a barrel than anything else. The path was rarely used, and it was covered in stick and rocks. As night fell, both herself and her husband were worn out and sore.
“Elena, I am going to try and get some rest. You should too if we are to have any energy when we arrive in town tomorrow” said Demetrius, with his hand on hers for reassurance. Being blind came with the skill to recognise anyone from touch alone, and Elena could recognise her husbands for the spike of dread that coursed through her each time their skin made contact. Demetrius was not an unkind man; in fact, he was more open than most that Elena had met. Not many would agree to having a blind woman as their bride. The problem in their marriage lied within Elena herself.
No matter how hard she tried, she could not feel any love for this man. This is what filled her with dread. She already lived a life without sight, she did not want to live without love as well. The marriage bed was painful, her home was loveless, and her own husband may love her, but he viewed her as broken and sick. All that Elena longed for was someone who saw through her blindness, to the woman beneath. She wanted to feel love as it was described in the stories and be able to share conversation with her without talking to her like a child. When Elena imagined the rest of her life with Demetrius, she felt nothing but fear. It did not sound like much of a life at all.
After a while, the carriage stopped for the night, and Elena could hear the coachmen snoring away outside. Her husband had moved away from her and his breaths had turn deep and even.
“Demetrius?” She whispered, “are you awake?” There was no response. Demetrius was fast asleep. It was time for Elena to set her plan into action.
She slowly stood up, gathering her skirts in her hands and being careful not to make too much sound. She felt around the carriage for her bag and tied it around her shoulder to keep it secure. Before they had left, she had secretly stashed some supplies in her luggage. Not much, just some bread, cheese and a jar of her favourite plum jam. Just enough to last her until she reached her destination. After finding the door handle, she careful opened it and squeezed through the crack, wincing as it creaked in its hinges. Holding onto the door frame with white knuckles, Elena climbed out of the carriage and into the night. The warm summer breeze ruffled her dark hair, tickling her cheeks. It felt like freedom.