Page 29 of Heroines of Olympus

Apparently, this is the wrong response and the man’s expression goes from cruel humor to being indignantly offended that she would dare address him this way. “We are just having a friendly conversation here. No need to get all emotional.”

“Look at you,” the first one spits out, disgust painted all over his face. “The rumors are that Athena did this to you in a fit of jealousy. Supposedly you were some great beauty. You don’t look so beautiful now, do you?”

She wants to respond angrily. Defend herself. It would fall on deaf ears. Medusa’s pulse races as her frantic mind scrambles for a solution. What does she do? Besides wishing she was dressed and not exposed right now? Getting out and at least being in her robe would be preferable to this. Maybe she can slip away if she plans it right.

Before she processes, they are at the side of the tub, standing above her. Medusa raises her hand, without thinking or hesitating, reaching for the hood to defend herself. A strong grip latches on to her arm and stops her just before she reaches it.

“I don’t think so. See, we are just going to continue our friendly chat, and you’re going to sit here and pretend to be civilized,” the first man says, as if she is being some unruly child. “Now tell me, I’m dying to know, are those scales all over?” His companions snicker, content to leave them talking to the first man. He is clearly the one running their dynamic.

Medusa tries to pull her arm back out of the man’s grasp. He laughs as if restraining her presents little challenge as the third man grabs her other arm and they jerk her out of the water, up onto her feet, standing naked in between them, facing the first man. He leers at her, looking her up and down as she struggles in vain against the grips of the men holding her.

“Get your hands off me.”

They all laugh. “C’mon now, we’re just havin’ some fun,” rasps the man restraining her left arm.

“Exactly,” the first man responds. He takes a step back to get a better picture of her and she wants to scream with rage. Rage over how defenseless she is at this moment. At herself for letting her guard down long enough for something like this to happen. Mostly at the cruel people in this world who are only happy as long as someone is under their heel. Her serpents start to hiss and shift aggressively, even under the hood.

The head asshole steps back toward her and says, “You almost look like a real girl. Let’s see if you feel like one, too.”

A bright light fills the room behind her as a female voice booms, “DO NOT PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER!” The man holding her right side panics, flailing and grabbing wildly and chaotically. His hand grasps her hood and pulls it down. One moment, she goes from struggling to free herself from her would-be assailants, to looking at three more in a long line of stone statues. She looks into their faces, wrenched in horror for eternity. When her eyes land on the frozen face of the first man, she feels no guilt, no shame. She can only muster disgust for him and every person like him who just takes and takes. She spits on his face and turns to put on her robe, pulling up her hood as she does so.

Psyche stands in the doorway and they stare silently at each other until all Medusa can think to ask is, “How were you safe when my hood was down? Poseidon said he was the only one who could look at me.”

“It’s my magic that makes that hood work, so naturally, the source of said magic would likely be immune,” she answers with a warm smile. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she adds, “Plus, the things Poseidon thinks he knows but actually doesn’t could fill The Great Library and then some.”

This draws a laugh from Medusa, and she is grateful for the moment of brevity. Medusa looks at the statues and remembers the incident with Cadmus on the ship.. If Psyche knows about Cadmus, she will never look the other way at this. Then it is a pattern. She quietly asks, “what’s going to happen?”

Confused, Psyche asks, “What do you mean? Only the Fates know the future, well sometimes an Oracle gets glimpses, and then,” she trails off and Medusa interrupts her.

“No, what’s going to happen to me? I killed three men and just got here. You can’t possibly still want me to stay after this.” Despite Medusa’s best efforts, desperation is present in her voice and she knows Psyche can hear it. She hates being so weak and needing this place and these people, but this is the first time she has begun to hope that there can be a life beyond her island. That is not something Medusa is ready to give up yet, but there are three lives she must answer for.

Psyche walks over and places her hand on the silk shoulder of Medusa’s robe and looks earnestly into her eyes. “Absolutely nothing is going to happen to you. Even if you didn’t have a literal god as your witness that it was self-defense, no one reasonable would think that in the bath a lone naked woman would be the aggressor against three men. I will have someone come take care of our new decor,” she adds with a smirk, “While you and I work on taking care ofyou. Before you object,” she says, putting a hand up, “I have already ordered tea and food for us to have in the lovely private lounge near your room. I came in here when I did to tell you about it.”

Medusa takes a final glance back at the men. She imagines how the scenario would have played out without her snakes and feels a small bit of gratitude that they were there.

* * *

After a soothing mint tea,an assortment of foods, and some little spiced cookies with a thin white icing, Medusa is feeling a little stronger on her feet. The conversation with Psyche has been light but stimulating. Invigorating and healing. They talked about everything and nothing. It is easy to forget that Psyche is a god, and Medusa could almost forget that she herself is a monster. Everything with Psyche feels natural, and Medusa is recognizing the romantic attraction she has for the goddess. The flirtation has been one-sided, but it is so hard to tell sometimes. While she has always been an over thinker, eight years of isolation will magnify that, making her question everything, often well past the point she still should.

There is also another factor to consider. Being around people again is still so new, and it easily overwhelms Medusa. With all the emotional unrest and questions swimming in her mind, it is ridiculous to be entertaining thoughts of romance and attraction. Even if Medusa acts on the feelings she suspects she has, how will she know if she is ready? Best not to think about it, she decides, as if it is really that easy.

The conversation shifts to the soul oaths and the Oasis. Psyche is telling Medusa some of the most entertaining reactions people have had when they see the Oasis for the first time. Before she can stop herself, Medusa is saying the pun that immediately comes to mind, “or should I say OATHasis,” and immediately regrets it. She cringes internally, but Psyche laughs. Only to humor her. “Have you tried to go back to the Oasis just for yourself since we talked about it?” Medusa asks.

“I haven’t,” Psyche replies, shaking her head. A quizzical look comes over her face and she asks, “Do you want to go there now? I was going to take you on a walk through our city here, but I’m very intrigued by this.”

Medusa nods vigorously. “Yes!”

They hold hands and close their eyes. The contact is sinful and decadent., illicit. Something Medusa can cherish in these split -second moments and get lost in her infatuation with a gorgeous goddess. When they open them again, they are in the Oasis once more. Nothing has changed, and Medusa is once again getting lost looking up at the starlight. The fireflies are still here; they have just scattered more on the periphery, glowing brightly. The Oasis is an absolute dream.

The familiar presence of Medusa’s constant companions has a soothing effect, surprising her. Holding up her hand to one of them and a snake coils itself around her fingers.

“Can you change things while we are in here, or do you even control what it is at all? Is it something that’s just attuned to your magic?”

Psyche chuckles. “So many questions! I have only really used this for the oaths. I’ve never tried to make changes. This is just the way it was when I first conceptualized it.”

Medusa and Psyche lie down in the sand to look up at the stars better. The ground feels nothing specific, which is nice because as textures go, the grainy roughness is not one of her favorites. The earth feels solid beneath her. As she runs a hand over a scaly spot on her arm, Medusa does not find it as unpleasant and grating as usual.

Together, they point out constellations in the sky that they know, discussing the legends and histories of them. Whichever one they talk about glows brighter than all the others until they move on to the next one.

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