Two Eyes Cenote hey, it’s time to hand it over

had medusa not lobbed the height of all treasonous accusations on qiao’s person, she might have softened. medusa was seen; she was just a girl held against the shearing edges of a world intent on turning her to gristle, a girl rudderless and clawing for her spot in the tumult. qiao always had a soft spot for girls; they were born softbellied and kind, and the world took advantage of them the moment they sucked in their first suffering breath. their bodies were not their own, and were shaped only to house men in them — an injustice — it would not be until they whittled their last breath that their souls would know peace. 

for this, their lives were to be cherished the way boy’s souls were to be crushed against the mortar and pedestal; drawn into a useful tincture far more potent than the culmination of their lives would ever be.

but medusa set afire that bridge, and the priestess only looked upon her the distracted way one might observe an irritating bug on their sleeve. medusa’s soul would join the faceless thousand and would not ever taste qiao’s sympathy. 

so, she delivered one final piece of advice. it is better to keep one’s mouth shut and be perceived a fool, than open one’s mouth and remove all doubts. your tongue, girl, would be more useful in the dirt than it is wagging in your head.

she did not care to entertain rebuke; gathering herself under the growing dark of the night, qiao did not look back. 

she would come for medusa’s treacherous tongue some other darkening hour.