I, Medusa

I'm grateful now to know the truth, that the only person who can give me purpose is myself. As the world fades, I find myself wondering if perhaps purpose is not a single thing one finds, but rather a thing one finds over and over again.

You are not a monster,” I murmur. I don’t know if the words are for the lion or for me. “You are only what they made you.

That’s the curious thing about monsters,” she whispers. “The worst ones don’t bother hiding in the dark.

What Poseidon did? It wasn't random. He orchestrated every encounter. He knew exactly what strings to pull, what words to say, because he is old and you are young. and because he knew he could take advantage of you. That is not your fault.

Your voice and your truth will never hold weight unless you also learn to hold power,

However long or short they may be, our lives can usually be pared down to a collection of choices made on a few fateful nights. Rarely do we know for sure which of these nights will be the ones that will alter everything to come. But if you pay close attention, there is a sensation, a light tingle beneath the surface of your skin, that hints at destiny.

We let each other sit in grief for the lives we had, for the girls we could’ve been, if the world were kinder.

I warned you that men with power are always the first to be believed,” she says. “You should have listened. In these situations

I find that I’m excited to learn what my next purpose will be. And that is enough.

It doesn’t matter that you might have wanted to at first,” she says. “You can change your mind at any time.

But going after them, trying to avenge every wrong…that kind of hate can consume a person, you know. That kind of hate doesn’t avenge; it just destroys.

She tallies how many men she has killed thus far and wonders how many more she will kill before the rage within her is sated

We were wondering…” She gestures to the other acolytes as though she speaks for all of them. “Is your hair real, or is it a wig?” I pause, confused. I’ve never been asked a question like that before. It seems so ludicrous that at first I wonder if she’s asked it in jest. I self-consciously roll one of my locs between my forefinger and thumb. “It’s mine,” I say quietly. “It’s my hair.” I make a point of tugging on the loc just slightly, so that she can see it’s attached to my scalp.

I’d turn a thousand men to stone to keep you safe.

I will never be helpless again. i will never be powerless again.

My father cares nothing for me or for my actual well-being. His sole interest in me is as it has always been: directly tied to what I can do for him. My personal achievements are to his political benefit. I remember that as I give my report.

He is yet another man in a position of power

Her father is a god, and if she knows anything about gods, it is that they care little for mortals and less for mortal plights.

Athena isn’t just a goddess of craft and wisdom. She’s a goddess of war. I’m sure even she understands that sometimes violence is necessary to maintain order.

Never mind what people like Kallisto say. They try to make you feel like you don’t belong because you intimidate them.