Stone Blind

Why would anyone love a monster?' asked Perseus. 'Who are you to decide who is worthy of love?' said Hermes. 'I mean, I wasn't...' 'And who are you to decide who is a monster?' added the messenger god.

I’m wondering if you still think of her as a monster. I suppose it depends on what you think that word means. Monsters are, what? Ugly? Terrifying? Gorgons are both these things, certainly, although Medusa wasn’t always. Can a monster be beautiful if it is still terrifying? Perhaps it depends on how you experience fear and judge beauty.

Men will tell you that Gorgons are monsters, but men are fools. They cannot comprehend any beauty beyond what they can see. And what they see is a tiny part of what there is.

And the monster? Who is she? She is what happens when someone cannot be saved.

Imagine being a god, she thought, and still needing to tell everyone how impressive you were.

It's important that you know this because he will try to claim there was a battle. But there is no battle to be had between an armed man and a sleeping girl. Don't forget.

You aren’t monsters,’ Medusa said. ‘Neither are you. Who decides what is a monster?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Medusa. ‘Men, I suppose.’ ‘So to mortal men, we are monsters. Because of our teeth, our flight, our strength. They fear us, so they call us monsters.

I know when you talk of beauty you mean something different from what I mean.’ ‘I see.’ He took a step towards her, and she forced herself not to take a step back. ‘So what do you mean by beauty, little Gorgon?’ ‘Euryale tends every one of her sheep like it is a child. Sthenno learned to cook so she could feed me when I was little. They care about me and protect me. That is beauty.

I feel like becoming the monster he made.

You can't prove what you believe,' she said. 'You can only believe it.

He thinks anyone who is not like him is a monster: have you noticed? And any monster needs killing.

They will fear you and flee you and call you a monster, just like they do your sisters.' 'It doesn't matter what they think of me.' 'Then why do you want to protect them?' 'Because I can,' she said.

There is one question that devours me still. Why didn’t I close my eyes?

And while I am all in favour of using precision to describe something, might I suggest that you would be better off not doing something so dangerous so often that you need a specific word for it? Perhaps develop your self-control rather than your vocabulary.

Then why do you protect them?” “Because I can,” she said

When she blew into the top of it, the reed made exactly the penetrating scream she demanded. Musicians - satyrs, in the first instance - would come along later and bend the instrument to their talent, creating the far sweeter sound we associate with the flute today. But Athene was no musician, and nor was she looking to play a tune. The first flute therefore sounded exactly like what it was. The desperate cry of a reed that has been severed from its root.

So you're homesick for somewhere you've never been?

Would it kill you to be sympathetic about someone who isn't as fortunate as you are? Would it?

Mortals are all the same,' she said to her sisters. 'They think their concerns are everyone's concerns.

The sea gods keep their secrets deep; they always have.

No sea god would want to feel so weakened. A shudder ran through Sthenno as she thought of what she had lost: the sweet sense of owning herself and her feelings, of having no concerns at all, or only the very mildest kind. All of this was gone, exchanged without warning for a cold, gripping panic whenever a child stumbled or hid or cried. This, she knew, was love. And she felt it even though she did not want it.

You're the one who thinks anything that doesn't look like you must be a monster.' 'They have snakes for hair!' Perseus cried. 'Snakes are't monsters,' said Hermes. 'And tusks.' 'Wild boar aren't monsters either.' 'And wings.' 'I'm sure even you don't think birds are monsters.

I'm wondering if you still think of her as a monster. I suppose it depends on what you think that word means. Monsters are, what? Ugly? Terrifying? Can a monster be beautiful if it is still terrifying? Perhaps it depends on how you experience fear and judge beauty. And is a monster always evil? Is there ever such a thing as a good monster? Because what happens when a good person becomes a monster?

No one could help being afraid of something. And being afraid of dying must be especially awful, because there was no hope of avoiding it.

They care about me and protect me. That is beauty.

I see you. I see all those who men call monsters. And I see the men who call them that. Call themselves heroes, of course. I only see them for an instant. Then they're gone. But it's enough. Enough to know that the hero isn't the one who's kind or brave or loyal. Sometimes — not always, but sometimes — he is monstrous. And the monster? Who is she? She is what happens when someone cannot be saved. This particular monster is assaulted, abused and vilified. And yet, as the story is always told, she is the one you should fear. She is the monster. We'll see about that.

Euryale liked humans...She liked the way they were so prone to anxiety and haste.

Power is something you can control,’ Sthenno said. ‘Medusa can turn anything to stone, yes. But she can’t not do it, if she doesn’t want to.

Gorgons aren’t supposed to be like gods. We belong here, in the place between the land and the sea, not on a lofty mountain. They put our image on the outside of temples, not within. We look out on mortals, not down on them.