Two Eyes Cenote return

She squinted at him, and then she decided that she would take him at his word and deal with the trouble later if he did something different. Good. That will be our secret, a surprise little gift that will surely delight when the time comes. I know your choice will make him so happy, She says with a smile, and ideally, that would keep at least this conversation between them and save her a headache these next few days. 

Anything else? Unlikely. 

But that was fine. Medusa had learned to expect that, and sometimes she had the good fortune of being able to use it to her advantage when she remembered. I know you wouldn’t, she complimented unthinkingly, a little too tired. Kind words from Medusa? A rare thing. And she would have thought nothing more of his initial words had he not tacked on the following sentiment, which earned a long look. Medusa did not think herself very pretty, but she did take offense when it was called attention to, and so she said, perhaps a little sharply, do not think to comment on my appearance again. it is enough to be groomed, and clean, but loveliness is not a thing a Hemet aspires to. She was not made in the image of the Gods, as the divine, but she could speak for Them at least.

A different sort of power. And while it might be nice to be pretty, Medusa did not think that she could handle being looked at for too long. She was unique in appearance, she knew, but nondescript enough to be left alone in her prayers and not hold the attention of any for longer than she was comfortable with. 

Medusa followed silently in step after this, and once they arrived she was quick to slip into the water. She did not look at her reflection until Charmion walked away, but any servant that remained near would see Medusa looking down and staring.

Shit, she was dirty. No wonder Charmion sought to make a recovery—ugly, pretty, one thing that was for sure was that even for her cold plunge in the river she was filthy. Medusa continued to stare, allowing her thoughts to drift to all the faces she had ever seen—none but for Midas could she find herself in. Medusa was a being who belonged to none, she felt—but she owed everything to Gucci, and to the first Pharaoh, who had permitted him to be her father through marriage. Because where the hell would she be now? 

Medusa never asked once about her mother. Sometimes Gucci would prepare to go into some verbal tangent about her, but Medusa had never been ready to hear it. So she never asked, and when it came up, she never listened. Because it didn’t matter—not if she wasn’t here. Better to not long for someone who probably couldn’t live up to her imagination anyway. 

It wasn’t as if her mother was some badass poisoner, or something cool. But she had been important enough to marry, and marry well, and Medusa had inherited wealth at least. And… love, as Gucci sometimes blathered. 

But not the sort of love Medusa has learned about during her travels. That was different. Warlock and Tall Dark and Handsome, the first, were whatever that was. Now though she felt absolutely nothing. Same word, different font, and it didn’t mean much to her. 

Except she did care about her dad, really. And even if she didn’t say it to him, she loved him too. Which was why she felt so guilty about running, and didn’t want to confront that guilt, or even humor being in the wrong. Which. Was she? It had been a Godsgiven mission that she had completed after all! 

Where the hell was Charmion? She thought she heard his steps padding her way, so she asked, how is his mood? Is he very upset with me? had Gucci ever been mad at her? 

Ugh. If he was she would have to avoid him forever. She just couldn’t deal with it.