Chapter 5: Unspoken Bonds

“I am sorry for my friend. He is the son of Aphrodite, and as you can imagine, beauty is the most important thing to him. Great. I am talking to a painting. Never mind. Who cares? Really. I am glad that they never found you, or the real Medusa. Maybe she got the chance to live a life outside of Olympus. Why did your painter draw you so sad? Shouldn’t you be looking powerful and respected? Anyways, I like the hair. It’s unique; no one else looks like this. Everyone is so obsessed with the snakes on your head. I was too at the beginning. But if one keeps looking at you a little bit longer instead of avoiding you, they will see how beautiful you really are. I guess people just walk past you and expect the worst. I know that feeling.” I have never heard such kind words being said to me. People have said that I was beautiful, and I knew that they meant it, but they always tried to get me into bed afterward. Before Poseidon. But Perseus is honest. He sees me differently. I want to talk to him, say thank you, show him the real Medusa. Perseus gives me one last look and says, “I better get going,” then I can only see him walking past the Hydra statue and out the door.

My thoughts still belong to Perseus. I used to hear every word that the visitors of the museum said to me, and every time those words cut deep. Yet, Perseus’ words are the ones that stayed with me. In the last few days, I was always looking at the door, hoping for Perseus to enter the museum and look at me. Those green eyes. It’s the same green that one of my snakes has. In the beginning, I hated the snakes on my head, but over time I started to accept them, and now they are a part of me. I don’t know how much time has passed since I last saw Perseus. I will probably never see him again.

Another day at the museum. The same old sayings. “Disgusting.” “Imagine if she were real.” “Always do your homework; otherwise, you will end up like her.” Maybe one day Perseus’ words will reach another person. If one keeps looking at you a little bit longer instead of avoiding you, they will see how beautiful you really are. Just as he enters my thoughts, I see a blonde head enter the museum. Perseus is walking toward me. “Hello, beautiful.” Is he serious? He is greeting me. I have never seen a visitor do this before—not to any sculpture or painting in this museum. He keeps on looking at me with a smile on his face. It feels weird. A good kind of weird. Now he is looking at me. Directly into my eyes. Is it possible for someone to fall in love with a painting? Because it feels like he is in love with me. I know that I have never spoken to him, and no one has probably ever loved me before. Not even Poseidon. Because you don’t rape the person you love. However, this feels true and honest.