Medusa

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The ancient stories speak of Medusa, once a beautiful maiden, turned into a monstrous gorgon by the vengeful goddess Athena. With serpents for hair and a gaze that could turn a man to stone, Medusa was the embodiment of terror, of wrath, of cold stone.

But what they often forget is that Medusa was a victim.

She was punished and shamed for a crime she did not invite.

My laughter was replaced with silence, my warmth with cold withdrawal. My eyes, once bright with curiosity, now held a gaze as hard and unforgiving.

No, I didn't have snakes for hair, but I was transformed nonetheless, my spirit hardened by the cruel hand of violation.

I withdrew, barricading myself behind my new, stony facade. The world had shown me its monstrous side, and so, I reflected it back.

I, too, could be a monster.

And the boys, they still came.

Lured by beauty, they approached, ignorant or perhaps undeterred by the coldness in my gaze. But I was no longer a welcoming shore. I was a fortress, unyielding and impervious.

They sought to claim me, to conquer me, to turn me into something malleable, something breakable.

But I, like Medusa, would not be broken again.

So, I turned the boys to stone, instead.