Who: Medusa (Narrative) What: Alive again When: Sometime during the last two weeks Where: The secret swamp
Dying is easy. The pitch black tar that creeps around your vision and swallows you whole...Medusa knows it well. She sees it every time she catches sight of her eyes in a reflective surface.
Yes, dying is easy. It's living that hurts.
She felt Rhea's nails dug into her skull, felt bone break while the snakes writhed and twitched in an imitation of life. The coffin is cold and the forgotten Titan's hands are strong. Medusa wishes she were dead though as soon as the darkness takes her the light chases it all away.
Screaming she sees nothing at first, nothing but that blinding whiteness that takes all her pain, amplifies it and makes every moment of her reformation unbearable. When it stops she has no strength and flails miserably as she drags herself from the muddy water, heaving herself onto the bank.
She lays still for hours, soaking up the heat, the sun and all the whispered promises that still echoed in the air. They are what called her back here, what helped make her whole.
Her scales are the color of gypsum sand. Beautiful and starkly visible against the dull muted browns and greens of the swamp. When she cries it's the snakes that kiss away all her tears.