Chapter Text
They say that people change. We’re never the same- one day to the next and the next and the next. We learn. We grow. We develop. We feel things.
We hope, we dream, we die, we live, we spin around in a cycle that never ends because the only thing that doesn’t change is change. Entropy. Chaos. Unpredictability itself.
Living is changing.
I’ve looked the same for thousands of years. If you looked at me, you wouldn’t think I was alive. You’d think I was a statue, just like every other piece in this museum. Sometimes, I wonder if the people who as come to visit me are right. If I’m really dead. But I was never buried. Charon never took me down the Styx. I’m not in the fields of punishment, no matter how torturous my life is.
I’m just… there. An object to be stared at. stone-cold and as dead as anything.
My friend Medusa was beautiful, before Athena cursed her. So beautiful she attracted the attention of gods. Well, one god. Poseidon. It was unwarranted attention; Medusa had no interest in him.
He raped her anyway.
They’re always talking about her when they see me, how I look like one of her victims, but I wouldn’t call myself a Medusa victim. I’d call myself a victim of the gods.