istoria: o proditis
Sob after sob tore through me.
I stood at the edge of city, surrounded by towering walls.
No one would look at me, ask me if I'm alright, offer to help. I was the merciless sorceress who ate men's hearts; not a broken woman, who was discarded for someone better, deserted by everyone who once cared for her. I would do their filthy work and then they would point fingers at me.
All because of one man's words.
Wind and blood roared in my ears.
He would pay for what he took from me. They all would: the people, the king and even the gods.
The wedding procession marched towards the palace. Loud music played and people danced, touching so close that breathes mingled. I hated them for laughing, for celebrating, for being so vibrant.
At the head of the crowd, the bride walked slowly, veiled but I could feel her joy through the fabric. A floral headrest sat delicately on her head.
Seeing her, rage gathered within myself- dark, wild and dangerous. She was the reason for my descent, my humiliation. My thirst for vengeance would start with her demise.
Something blunt dug into my thigh. I reached into the folds of my ragged skirt and pulled out a vial, one that was not there before. A viscous, clear liquid swam in it and it smelled of poison.
I could almost hear the Fates shrieking gleefully, tempting me. I knew who granted me this wish and I would no longer resist.
The bottle sparkled in the bright sun light and my heart sang of murder.
Hate is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour.
YOU ARE READING
MEDEA
Historical Fiction❝Hate is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour.❞ Exiled, wounded and filled with loathing, Medea decides to take fate into her hands and rewrite what the gods had framed: her downfall. In which an enchantress seeks vengeance on the men who betrayed...
