A/N: Please be advised before reading this chapter, that there is a very heavy part in it. It doesn't go into much detail, but it's important for the story. If you are uncomfortable with reading at anytime, please skip to the next chapter, you won't be lost. This chapter just explains how Medusa became the Gorgon that she is.
The breeze soothed Medusa's new skin as she finally made her way down the invisible path through the woods. She thought about her dream; she was having a hard time ridding her mind of it. She also thought of the afterthoughts she had. She was beginning to doubt herself; this was making it suddenly hard for her to get through the rest of the forest. Ever since the day Athena cursed her, or as she put it, helped her, Medusa hated herself.
Medusa had been beautiful once, a very long time ago. Her skin was healthy, young and smooth. She had dark silky, smooth hair and enchanting green eyes. Amongst her town, she had been deemed the most beautiful of women. She had been a priestess in a temple for the mighty Athena. She managed to capture any man's eye, but having been a priestess, she devoted her love and pledged her virtue to Athena, to serve her. One day, a man with long white hair, on his face and his head - though he didn't look old- approached Medusa. His eyes shined like the ocean on a warm summer day, and his voice was melodic and deep. He spoke to Medusa almost like he was singing. He asked her to come with him and join him. He wanted Medusa to let him show her things no ordinary man could.
Of course, Medusa turned down the offer. She had what she needed serving the Goddess and she would allow no man to take it from her. Though, Medusa knew she was beautiful, she was not vain. She did not use her looks to trick men, nor did she accept any offers braver ones gave when they mustered up enough courage. But there was something about this particular man that made Medusa's heart fill with dread and turned her stomach to stone that sank to her feet. She walked quicker than she meant into the temple. Behind the safety of the walls she quickly ran to her chambers and shut the door hard. Breathing heavy, she made it to the side of her bed and prayed to her goddess.
That night while lying in her bed she dreamt of the strange man. She saw his ocean eyes, but this time there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes were angry, as was the water within them. She screamed as her lungs filled with water, but her body wasn't submerged. She tried to scream, but all the sound was a gurgling nose as the water filled her mouth.
"No one can hear you, my sweet," the deep voice whispered in her ear. This time, the voice was no longer melodic, and the sing-song tone was swept away. Medusa became filled with terror. She thrashed and squirmed as she tried to break free of the strong hold that was pinning her down. Medusa realized she was no longer dreaming. The white-haired man from this afternoon was in her chambers, holding her down in her bed. She screamed for help, but more water filled her mouth, leaking out from between her lips and pooling behind her head. Tears followed the water, and she felt her hair dampen.
"No one has turned me down before, let alone with such dismissal," he growled. Medusa's whole body shook. The man's hands ran up her leg and underneath her nightgown, causing Medusa to thrash more. She pulled one arm free from the man's grip above her head and slapped him on the side of his head. However, instead of hurting him, it only made him more angry, more determined. He released his grip on her other arm and pinned her firmly down. Medusa gathered the strength she had and spit the water from her mouth into the intruder's face. Surprised, he released his grip on her arms and wiped the water from his face. Medusa made this her chance to pry free from his hold on her and make a break for her door. Her fingertips barely brushed the handle before she was dragged backwards by her ankles. Her face hit the hard floor and Medusa saw nothing but darkness.
When she awoke the next morning, she was tucked in her bed, neatly. 'Twas nothing but a dream. She thought to herself. She pushed herself up from beneath her blankets and winced harshly. Pushing them away, she saw herself lying in a pool of blood, the redness sticky on her thighs. She felt her hair, it was damp, though she had not taken a shower the night before. Her bedsheets were full of water, as well. The dream from the night, was not at all a dream. She got up from her bed and took a swift look in her vanity. Her throat was littered with bruises, a claiming on her milky skin, a beacon of what non-virtue. That is how the Goddess would see it. Not unless I tell her of it first, tell her what happened.
