30. Petrifying Blood
The room was a mess. On the work surface, shelves, and floor lay dead bees. Medusa massaged the back of her neck and groaned. This would be a chore to clean.
Contrary to Nestor's advice, she had spent hours in the annexe.
Under Clotho's iron supervision, she laboured over ten writing needles, carefully etching runic markings before dipping them in venom.
Backbreaking work but she would take that a thousand times over the method she used to get the bees' venom.
Even now, the bitter taste lingered on her tongue. Ugh.
Clotho laughed for the first time in hours. You eat honey but can't eat what makes honey.
What sort of wacky logic is that?
Medusa's focus shifted from the needles to a beaker holding thinned blood. Eating the queen led to the death of its colony and a permanent change in her blood. From stone gaze to petrifying blood. At least, I chose this, not some curse forced on me.
Yet your curse remains, replied rationality. You can't escape this fate. You're already a beast.
No, I'm not. Right now she had normal hands and feet, real hair. Completely human. The gorgon was in a past that never happened.
Curses follow the soul, not the body. The voice argued. If it never happened, why are you here? Why pursue revenge? Denial is stupid.
Biting the inside of her lower lip, Medusa opened her eyes and bleakly stared at the needles. This kind of thinking. Arguing with herself. Expecting the worst. Remembering the past. She thought it had lessened when she returned to Cosmolith.
Cracks formed across the walls she set up, and a memory escaped.
"Ruined child. It grieves me to send you away."
The snakes did not react when Athena brushed away a tear that slipped past the soaked blindfold.
"If I could cancel the curse, I would have. But your purity is gone."
Medusa focused on the sound of the lapping waves and the smell of the ocean—anything to keep her mind blank. Around her neck was an iron band with a long chain connected to a sea vessel.
Even if she miraculously gained the ability to speak past the beastly screeches, she would have no words. This bone-deep feeling of self-disgust, like maggots burrowing in her marrows. What he did to her. All the people she had murdered.
Clotho remained silent for a moment as if protesting Medusa's unwillingness to share her thoughts. No time for that. You can use your dimension, no?
Medusa shook her head. I prefer an antivenom. Please, tell me how to make one.
She rubbed her eyes harder when she noticed the wetness. Stupid tears.
Medusa leaned on the broom with her chin propped on the back of her hands.
Her heart raced with the hope of getting some answers.
My aunt said there are cursed and blessed gods, that my dad is cursed but my mum is blessed.
But... Medusa frowned. I have never heard of any deity possessing transformed bodies like my sisters and me.
The eye of petrification. Was that a double curse? Did Athena add the curse?
And it was extremely rare for deities to bear children; yet her parents bore four, if she were counting the son her aunt mentioned, within eighty years of marriage.
Medusa's brow bunched. It was a hard pill to swallow, a possibility she fiercely rejected all through her lives. I hate the sound of that.
Medusa clamped her jaw shut, refusing to speak.
It would be foolish to deny Clotho's logic.
Medusa had experienced her parents, Phorcydes and Demeter.
Even Ares did not possess the same malevolent presence Athena and Poseidon had.
There were other deities she encountered at Athena's temple, nasty lots that only held back because she was the daughter of a deity.
But even that was not enough to shield her at the end.
"I did vile things too," Medusa mumbled. How was she just seeing this now? "I'm also a monster."
Clotho was silent.
A dead laugh escaped before Medusa could stop it. Forgive me, Moirai, but I think you are wrong. She wiped her tears and began sweeping. I deliberately killed those who came to my cave. At a point, I craved their visit.
"YOU DO NOT KNOW EVERYTHING!"
Medusa fell silent as she continued sweeping.
She gave up trying to rebuild the walls that kept her memories at bay; now they poured out, pelting her for attention and burning her mind.
Clotho would never understand. There was no way such a being would understand the toll on her soul.
Life after life trying to atone. When nothing worked, she chose denial and agreed to be loved. What had that led to?
"I should... I should take Rico and flee." Yes. That made better sense. Her double could take on her life and head to the temple. She would find an obscure village and quietly live out her days. A smile touched her lips. Antonii would prefer that a thousand times over avenging his death.
Groaning, Medusa facepalmed. "I'm such a lucky person."
Silence reigned until Medusa finished cleaning the room.
Medusa thought about it for a moment. I... wish to protect myself. I'm not naive enough to believe they would leave me be, and I suspect Athena would find me if I attempted to flee.
A bold claim, but she was without choice. For the first time since returning to Cosmolith, she imagined a different life. Rico, Phorcys, Ceto, her sisters and her aunt all together as a family. Such lovely impossible dreams.
"He tortured my husband," Medusa spat. "Decapitated me and... and." Rage, bitter on her tongue, would not let her complete the sentence. Just how deep was his hatred that he sought her out in another world? To him, she was nothing but a beast existing to be slain.
There was something unspoken in the air and even if the Moirai didn't say it, Medusa heard it loud and clear.
The current Perseus, wherever he is, isn't responsible for your pain.
I don't care! Antonii died. Days ago, he died. And I...
Rubbing the spot above her throbbing heart, Medusa struggled to calm her breaths but raw emotions wouldn't let her. The urge to hide and weep for days was almost unbearable.
Clotho hummed her acknowledgement. So will you still help me free my sister?
Medusa groaned on her inside; she recognised this tone. The Moirai was about to drop something heavy.
Her instinct had been correct. Something had gone wrong the day she left the villa. She clutched the necklace he gifted her. Is—is he fine?
Dread weakened Medusa's knees. She sank onto a stool. "It's because of me, isn't it? What I did with the chant of apparition." Her guilt returned a hundredfold.
Medusa stood and began pacing. You said he's not fine. If it's a slap on the wrist, he should be fine.