Hope
Many, many suns and moons ago, when the sun and moon were still praised by mortals, there were three sisters who lived on an island called Sarpedon. Their names were Stheno, Euryale, and Medusa, three of the most beautiful women on the island. Each of their faces were perfectly symmetrical, with delicate ringlets of hair adorning their heads like crowns. Stheno had hair the color of the purest wine; Euryale’s hair was deep black, like the feather of a sacred raven; and Medusa had honey hair that glittered like the sun.
The three sisters were sought after by almost every man on Sarpedon; even the gods took notice of the beautiful women. Fine wine, delicious meals, and gorgeous threads were left at their doorstep, but these divine goods were a trap. The men did not honor the sisters. They did not want their hand in marriage or their unwavering love. No, the gifts on the doorstep of the sisters’ home was bait, a way to lure them out, to tempt them into looking for the sender of such wonderful gifts. Then, when the women were all alone, a man could seize his chance to take advantage of one of the sisters, with no one around to save her.
But the sisters were smarter than what the townspeople gave them credit for. No matter what the men of the island left outside of their doorstep, they ignored it. Food rotted, wine spoiled, threads were soaked with mud, and the sisters still paid the goods no mind. Once, even a pure white horse was left outside of the home. Days passed and the horse grew frail, tired, and sick. Finally, after one week of the horse standing in the rain and hot sun with no food or water, Medusa took pity on the horse. Through one of the windows of the home, she removed the lid of their rain barrel and placed a basket of “rotten” apples beside it. Then, with expert aim, she threw a knife at the rope that the horse was tied to and cut it cleanly in half. The horse sighed and brayed, drank and ate gratefully, and galloped away. The next morning, the horse was found dead, its beautiful head severed and left in the road for all the islanders to see.
Quickly, the lust of the men became more and more ravenous, mixing with anger and spite. To rape one of the sisters would be the ultimate achievement in their eyes, and they were willing to do almost anything to get it.
Still, the sisters paid no attention to the rising tensions on the island. They went about their daily businesses together, side by side, for if they were together, no one could touch them. The sisters had the protection of Athena on their side. Athena had declared the sisters as her new priestesses and blessed them with her protection. As long as the sisters worshiped Athena at her temple, she would continually watch over them when they were together and no harm would befall them. The islanders knew this, and yet they still tried to catch one of the sisters alone.
Every morning at sunrise and every evening at sunset, the sisters visited Athena’s temple by the seaside, bringing her wine, olives, and honey. They prayed, sang, and danced for Athena, smiling and laughing the whole time. Joy swelled from their hearts and filled the temple, a foreign feeling anywhere else. The temple was a safe haven for Athena’s priestesses, a place full of love and honor.
Then one day, it wasn’t.
One morning, Medusa awoke with the sun, its golden rays dancing across her face. Stheno and Euryale still lay fast asleep in their beds, paying no mind to Apollo’s beautiful gift. Quietly, Medusa got ready for a trip to Athena’s temple. In a handcrafted basket she placed a container of wine, a bundle of olives, and a jar of clover honey, Athena’s favorite offerings. Still, her sisters did not wake. The whole island, it seemed, still lay fast asleep. Weighing the risks in her mind, she decided to visit the temple on her own, just for a few moments, to lay out her offerings and say a quick prayer.
The walk to Athena’s temple did not take long. Medusa admired the turquoise waters that glimmered in the rising sun, feeling the salty air sweep through her hair. The stone steps were still cool from the night, and the inside was even cooler. A large altar draped in a deep golden cloth sat in the center of the room. Jars and bowls sat empty from last night’s visitors. Medusa gently pushed them aside and laid out her gifts. She knelt before the altar and stared up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling. She thought if she stared hard enough, she could still make out the remains of a few twinkling stars before Apollo erased them with his light. The stillness in the temple was comforting. Medusa closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, letting the silence wash over her.
Suddenly, loud footsteps slapped against the stone steps. Medusa remained seated; people would be arising soon and wanting to offer their own gifts to Athena. But the person who entered the temple wasn’t a regular. The figure’s shadow shrouded the floor in darkness. The smell of salt, rotten fish, and mud invaded Medusa’s focus.
When she turned around, her eyes grew wide at the sight before her. Poseidon himself, trident and all, stood before her, his pale skin glowing like moonlight, his beard tangled with seaweed and sand.
“I knew you would be here,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “Where are your sisters, Stheno and Euryale?”
“Home,” Medusa said faintly, still not quite believing her eyes. “I didn’t want to wake them.”
“So you came… alone?” he asked. The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes narrowed in delight.
A horrible feeling settled into Medusa’s stomach. Her body felt paralyzed and she could only respond with a nod.
“Good,” Poseidon said, fully smirking now. His great thundering feet moved swiftly towards the crouching Medusa. With one mighty hand he grabbed her by the throat, pinning her to the ground. Medusa squirmed, but her limbs were no match to a god’s. Her voice was silenced under his fist. Tears streamed out of her eyes as he did what he wished, and prayed in her head to Athena for a moment of mercy.
The three sisters were sought after by almost every man on Sarpedon; even the gods took notice of the beautiful women. Fine wine, delicious meals, and gorgeous threads were left at their doorstep, but these divine goods were a trap. The men did not honor the sisters. They did not want their hand in marriage or their unwavering love. No, the gifts on the doorstep of the sisters’ home was bait, a way to lure them out, to tempt them into looking for the sender of such wonderful gifts. Then, when the women were all alone, a man could seize his chance to take advantage of one of the sisters, with no one around to save her.
But the sisters were smarter than what the townspeople gave them credit for. No matter what the men of the island left outside of their doorstep, they ignored it. Food rotted, wine spoiled, threads were soaked with mud, and the sisters still paid the goods no mind. Once, even a pure white horse was left outside of the home. Days passed and the horse grew frail, tired, and sick. Finally, after one week of the horse standing in the rain and hot sun with no food or water, Medusa took pity on the horse. Through one of the windows of the home, she removed the lid of their rain barrel and placed a basket of “rotten” apples beside it. Then, with expert aim, she threw a knife at the rope that the horse was tied to and cut it cleanly in half. The horse sighed and brayed, drank and ate gratefully, and galloped away. The next morning, the horse was found dead, its beautiful head severed and left in the road for all the islanders to see.
Quickly, the lust of the men became more and more ravenous, mixing with anger and spite. To rape one of the sisters would be the ultimate achievement in their eyes, and they were willing to do almost anything to get it.
Still, the sisters paid no attention to the rising tensions on the island. They went about their daily businesses together, side by side, for if they were together, no one could touch them. The sisters had the protection of Athena on their side. Athena had declared the sisters as her new priestesses and blessed them with her protection. As long as the sisters worshiped Athena at her temple, she would continually watch over them when they were together and no harm would befall them. The islanders knew this, and yet they still tried to catch one of the sisters alone.
Every morning at sunrise and every evening at sunset, the sisters visited Athena’s temple by the seaside, bringing her wine, olives, and honey. They prayed, sang, and danced for Athena, smiling and laughing the whole time. Joy swelled from their hearts and filled the temple, a foreign feeling anywhere else. The temple was a safe haven for Athena’s priestesses, a place full of love and honor.
Then one day, it wasn’t.
One morning, Medusa awoke with the sun, its golden rays dancing across her face. Stheno and Euryale still lay fast asleep in their beds, paying no mind to Apollo’s beautiful gift. Quietly, Medusa got ready for a trip to Athena’s temple. In a handcrafted basket she placed a container of wine, a bundle of olives, and a jar of clover honey, Athena’s favorite offerings. Still, her sisters did not wake. The whole island, it seemed, still lay fast asleep. Weighing the risks in her mind, she decided to visit the temple on her own, just for a few moments, to lay out her offerings and say a quick prayer.
The walk to Athena’s temple did not take long. Medusa admired the turquoise waters that glimmered in the rising sun, feeling the salty air sweep through her hair. The stone steps were still cool from the night, and the inside was even cooler. A large altar draped in a deep golden cloth sat in the center of the room. Jars and bowls sat empty from last night’s visitors. Medusa gently pushed them aside and laid out her gifts. She knelt before the altar and stared up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling. She thought if she stared hard enough, she could still make out the remains of a few twinkling stars before Apollo erased them with his light. The stillness in the temple was comforting. Medusa closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, letting the silence wash over her.
Suddenly, loud footsteps slapped against the stone steps. Medusa remained seated; people would be arising soon and wanting to offer their own gifts to Athena. But the person who entered the temple wasn’t a regular. The figure’s shadow shrouded the floor in darkness. The smell of salt, rotten fish, and mud invaded Medusa’s focus.
When she turned around, her eyes grew wide at the sight before her. Poseidon himself, trident and all, stood before her, his pale skin glowing like moonlight, his beard tangled with seaweed and sand.
“I knew you would be here,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “Where are your sisters, Stheno and Euryale?”
“Home,” Medusa said faintly, still not quite believing her eyes. “I didn’t want to wake them.”
“So you came… alone?” he asked. The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes narrowed in delight.
A horrible feeling settled into Medusa’s stomach. Her body felt paralyzed and she could only respond with a nod.
“Good,” Poseidon said, fully smirking now. His great thundering feet moved swiftly towards the crouching Medusa. With one mighty hand he grabbed her by the throat, pinning her to the ground. Medusa squirmed, but her limbs were no match to a god’s. Her voice was silenced under his fist. Tears streamed out of her eyes as he did what he wished, and prayed in her head to Athena for a moment of mercy.
For what seemed like hours, Medusa laid on the cool temple floor, robes ripped, neck and other areas bruised, trying to cry but no more tears came out. The sun had fully risen, warming her body like a blanket, but Medusa still shivered.
Finally, there came the patter of feet at the temple’s steps. From the gasps alone, Medusa knew who it was. Stheno and Euryale rushed over to their sister, covering their mouths and sobbing, their wails echoing off the temple walls.
‘Was it…” Stheno started, “was it… Poseidon?”
Medusa’s eyes met her sister’s, and with a single nod, they all understood. Poseidon had taken advantage of all of them, stealing away their purity, dignity, and trust. The sisters wept in each other’s arms, crying out to Athena for a sign, a word, a blessing, anything.
To their surprise, a voice like a songbird sounded above them. “My priestesses, what is the matter? Why do you weep so deeply? Why do you wail in pain?”
With one look, Athena knew what had happened. She stood before the sisters, glowing radiantly, and extended out her hands. Tears like diamonds slid down her face.
“Goddess Athena, it is Medusa. Poseidon, he… he has raped her, like he did to us long ago,” Euryale said through sobs.
Athena stooped down and cradled Medusa’s head in her hands. Her owl-like eyes stared deep into Medusa’s searching for answers and a solution. “My priestess, I bless you. I give to you the power to turn men into stone with one glance. They will think you ugly, wicked, evil, and vile, yet to every woman who lays eyes on you, you will be beautiful, divine, and a beacon of hope. I forbid any man to lay a hand on you again, lest it be their last.”
With those words, Medusa’s bruises melted away and her hair began to grow rapidly, falling out and regrowing, but small serpents replaced her golden locks. They slithered against each other, flicking their tongues towards Athena, curling around Medusa’s head as if to give her a dozen tiny hugs. Tears slid down her face and were quickly licked away by her newest friends. There were not enough words in Medusa’s brain to thank Athena for her blessing, but it wasn’t necessary. The years of offerings, prayers, songs, dances, smiles, laughs, and tears were her thanks; words paled in comparison.
For centuries after Athena blessed Medusa, her promise held up. Word quickly spread across Sarpedon about the evil, snake-headed monster, and yet, women seemed to pay the “threat” no mind, as if it was the passing of old news. In fact, many women sought out this “monster”, bringing her their own stories of heartache and trauma. Medusa would sit patiently, listening to the hundreds of women who came to visit her, comforting them when needed and encouraging when asked for. She took it upon herself to give every brave woman that visited her home a lock of her hair (actually, a single snake) to take home and wear as a talisman. With the lock of hair, the women turned their abusers to stone, freeing themselves of the grief and pain they inflicted for good.
For what seemed like hours, Medusa laid on the cool temple floor, robes ripped, neck and other areas bruised, trying to cry but no more tears came out. The sun had fully risen, warming her body like a blanket, but Medusa still shivered.
Finally, there came the patter of feet at the temple’s steps. From the gasps alone, Medusa knew who it was. Stheno and Euryale rushed over to their sister, covering their mouths and sobbing, their wails echoing off the temple walls.
‘Was it…” Stheno started, “was it… Poseidon?”
Medusa’s eyes met her sister’s, and with a single nod, they all understood. Poseidon had taken advantage of all of them, stealing away their purity, dignity, and trust. The sisters wept in each other’s arms, crying out to Athena for a sign, a word, a blessing, anything.
To their surprise, a voice like a songbird sounded above them. “My priestesses, what is the matter? Why do you weep so deeply? Why do you wail in pain?”
With one look, Athena knew what had happened. She stood before the sisters, glowing radiantly, and extended out her hands. Tears like diamonds slid down her face.
“Goddess Athena, it is Medusa. Poseidon, he… he has raped her, like he did to us long ago,” Euryale said through sobs.
Athena stooped down and cradled Medusa’s head in her hands. Her owl-like eyes stared deep into Medusa’s searching for answers and a solution. “My priestess, I bless you. I give to you the power to turn men into stone with one glance. They will think you ugly, wicked, evil, and vile, yet to every woman who lays eyes on you, you will be beautiful, divine, and a beacon of hope. I forbid any man to lay a hand on you again, lest it be their last.”
With those words, Medusa’s bruises melted away and her hair began to grow rapidly, falling out and regrowing, but small serpents replaced her golden locks. They slithered against each other, flicking their tongues towards Athena, curling around Medusa’s head as if to give her a dozen tiny hugs. Tears slid down her face and were quickly licked away by her newest friends. There were not enough words in Medusa’s brain to thank Athena for her blessing, but it wasn’t necessary. The years of offerings, prayers, songs, dances, smiles, laughs, and tears were her thanks; words paled in comparison.
For centuries after Athena blessed Medusa, her promise held up. Word quickly spread across Sarpedon about the evil, snake-headed monster, and yet, women seemed to pay the “threat” no mind, as if it was the passing of old news. In fact, many women sought out this “monster”, bringing her their own stories of heartache and trauma. Medusa would sit patiently, listening to the hundreds of women who came to visit her, comforting them when needed and encouraging when asked for. She took it upon herself to give every brave woman that visited her home a lock of her hair (actually, a single snake) to take home and wear as a talisman. With the lock of hair, the women turned their abusers to stone, freeing themselves of the grief and pain they inflicted for good.