Medusa’s Tale

Chapter 1

“You don't have to fear so much, Eleanor.”

I sighed, my head heavy with the weight of overwhelming thoughts. I hated admitting it, but being here at the funeral was nothing short of torment. Watching the woman I cherished most in this world lie in an unnatural, hollow peace was unbearable.

My head trembled, and pain coursed through me, raw and relentless. Staring at the woman in the coffin made everything worse. As she was lowered into the ground, it felt like life itself was being stolen from me by death’s cold hand—just like she had been. Soon, she would rest in a place I did not belong.

“It’s going to be just fine, sweetie.” Why do I still hear her voice in my head?

“Mama...” I whispered softly.

She was my last thread of hope, and now, even that was gone. I felt as though I was disappearing along with her.

The rain began to pour heavily, mixing with the tears streaming down my face. It felt like I was deliberately drowning myself in the storm of my grief, though it saddened me that it wasn’t enough to erase my existence.

Yes, I longed for death—only to be with Mama. But I couldn’t. She wouldn’t want me to.

“Eleanor?”

An unfamiliar voice pulled me back from the abyss. I turned slowly, my eyes meeting my aunt’s. She stood there, her expression a mirror of the pity I’d been receiving from everyone.

Her gaze made me avert my eyes, pride flickering faintly in my chest. I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t want anyone’s. I hated the feeling of being observed, especially in this moment of grief.

“Let’s go home,” she said softly, her hand closing gently over mine.

Home.

I no longer knew what home meant. The word felt foreign, hollow. What was home without Mama?

The ache in my heart spread like poison, leaving me numb.

“Never be afraid, Eleanor...”

Her voice echoed in my mind again, soft yet haunting. Ever since she passed, I’d been hearing it. Was it an illusion? A trick of my grief? I didn’t believe in ghosts, yet her voice felt so real. Still, my skepticism prevailed. I believed in nothing now—nothing but the void left in her absence.

“Welcome home, Eleanor,” my aunt said as the maids took my bag and coat.

I nodded, taking in the house. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was elegant, beautiful, and undoubtedly well-kept. It was the finest house I’d ever seen in my life.

“Would you like something to eat, dear? Maybe a dessert?” she asked, her voice brimming with polite excitement.

My stomach grumbled in response. I nodded, this time managing to speak. “Yes, please,” I murmured, my voice dry and cracked.

Her eyes lit up, and she hurried to the kitchen. Moments later, she called for me, and I followed. On the counter sat a strawberry shortcake, its scent filling the air. My stomach rumbled again as I imagined the sweetness melting on my tongue, a brief escape from the pain.

I grabbed a spoonful and savored the burst of flavor, the strawberries dancing on my taste buds. For a fleeting moment, the cake soothed my broken spirit.

“Do you like it?” my aunt asked, giggling as she watched me devour the dessert.

I nodded. “I certainly do, Mrs. Jones.”

“Oh, no need for formalities,” she said, waving her hand playfully. “You can call me Mom. In fact, I’d prefer to call you my own.”

Her words stopped me in my tracks. Own me? The phrase left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I forced a smile and brushed it off.

“Okay... Mom,” I said hesitantly.

The idea of having a new mother felt wrong, like I was burying my real Mama’s memory. She was irreplaceable, and the thought of someone trying to fill her role reopened the wound in my heart.

---

Time passed, though my grief remained an ever-present shadow. School resumed, and I found myself at Camarines National High School. The halls buzzed with activity, students rushing about as the first quarter exams approached. The commotion barely registered with me. I moved mechanically, clutching my books as if they could anchor me.

Inside the classroom, my seatmate Annabelle glanced at me, her perfectly styled hair catching the light. She was effortlessly elegant, admired by everyone. Yet, she chose to befriend me—an adopted girl who felt like an outsider.

“Eleanor, did you study well?” she asked, flipping through her science notes.

“Yes,” I lied, forcing a smile.

Annabelle smiled back, unaware of my inner turmoil. “Do you want to come over after school? We can have dinner at my house.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Sounds good, I guess.”

Her face lit up with excitement. “Great! My brother’s visiting, and I want you to meet him.”

“The brother you’re always talking about?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

She giggled. “Yes! You’ll see how amazing he is.”

The day passed in a blur of exams and whispered conversations. After school, Annabelle’s car arrived, and we rode to her house together. She hummed happily, occasionally glancing at me with a mischievous grin.

When we arrived at her mansion, her parents greeted us warmly. They were kind, welcoming me as if I were family. Annabelle led me to her room, which was massive, almost like a mini-apartment. I collapsed onto her plush bed, clutching a pillow.

“Even your bed is perfect,” I muttered, half-envious.

Annabelle laughed, pulling a book from her shelf. “I want to show you something.”

The book was old, its cover faded with age. She flipped through the pages, her eyes sparkling. “It’s about myths and legends. My friend lent it to me.”

“What kind of myths?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

She pointed to a passage. “This one is about Medusa. It says, A dangerous beauty it holds is the weakness who offers a sight.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, leaning closer.

“Medusa was cursed because of her beauty,” Annabelle explained. “Her eyes turned green, and her hair turned into golden-brown snakes. It says here that her gaze could turn anyone to stone.”

A chill ran through me as I stared at the words. A dangerous beauty it holds is the weakness who offers a sight. She who holds a dangerous beauty will make the realms bow before her might.

I shivered, closing the book. Something about those words felt too close to home.