Medusa’s Tale

Chapter 3

Questions swirled relentlessly in my mind after the incident.

I went home straightaway after bidding Belle’s parents goodbye. They looked disappointed, clearly expecting me to stay longer, but I couldn’t focus on anything else. Something felt off. Staying in their mansion while carrying these thoughts would have been unbearable. Vlad, however, opted to remain behind.

Of course, he did. He wouldn’t bother going with me—his stepsister. Not once did he glance my way. His indifference solidified my decision to leave, making it clear that disbarring myself from the reunion was the right choice.

The clouds overhead had begun to dissipate, letting the sun's rays pierce through and warm the earth. As I walked toward our house, which was neither too far nor too close, I welcomed the quiet around me. The streets were unusually empty, likely because most people were taking their midday rest, recharging for the rest of the day.

The rhythmic tapping of my boots on the pavement filled the silence, providing a steady rhythm to my steps. The gentle sunlight kissed my skin, and the fresh air mingled perfectly with its warmth. For a fleeting moment, I felt a rare sense of peace, as though the sun and air were working together to soothe the weight pressing on my chest.

But calmness, as always, was fleeting. The moment I stepped into our house, the storm inside me would rage again. Questions would invade my mind, uninvited and unrelenting. They had been there since the day my mother passed. I hated how powerless they made me feel, like a warrior defeated before the battle even began.

How can I become a great warrior if I can’t even conquer my own thoughts?

The weight of my insecurities pressed down on me. My mother used to tell me that being a warrior wasn’t about strength alone—that it was about resilience. But her words felt like a distant echo now, drowned out by my doubts.

“Being an outstanding warrior doesn’t mean you must withstand the irony of life and death,” her voice whispered in my mind.

I froze mid-step, my breath hitching. The hallucination felt so real, as though she were standing beside me, speaking directly to my soul.

But isn’t that exactly what it takes to survive? Life itself is a cruel game, and only those who master its rules can make it through.

“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”

Her words lingered, and I closed my eyes. But I am weak, I thought. And if I’m weak, does that mean I must pretend to be strong?

---

When I arrived home, I was greeted only by the maids. My parents were, as usual, busy with work. Their absence barely registered as I headed straight to my bedroom, where I tossed myself onto the bed. My body ached with exhaustion, though I hadn’t done anything particularly taxing that day.

I reached for my pillow, intent on surrendering to sleep, but my eyes landed on the book sitting on my bedside table. My brows furrowed as I stretched to grab it. Upon closer inspection, I recognized it as the book I’d borrowed from Belle’s mansion—a book I hadn’t had the chance to read yet.

Sighing, I adjusted myself to sit up. Sleep could wait. This felt like the perfect time to finally dive into its pages.

The cover was simple yet aged, its texture rough under my fingertips. I opened it to the first page, where elegant handwriting greeted me.

“Untold Tales.”

The title alone sent a shiver down my spine. It was strange, almost foreboding. Beneath it was an inscription:

“Seek to know who mourns for oblivion.”

I murmured the words aloud, feeling their weight settle over me. There was something unsettling about this book—something that felt too real despite its fictional premise.

As I flipped the pages, the scent of old paper wafted up, filling my senses. The next chapter’s title caught my eye:

“Enchanted Realm.”

The text described a place inhabited by mystical creatures and humans who were “beyond human.” It claimed this realm was invisible to ordinary people, only revealing itself to those deemed worthy.

“There shall be no manifestation upon hearts that aren't chosen by the realm,” I read aloud, my voice tinged with confusion.

What did that even mean? That only certain people could see it? And if so, who decided who was worthy? My brows knit together as I read on. The realm was described as a place of beauty and magic, yet it was also plagued by evils and secrets concealed from the mortal world.

The book suggested that fragments of its magic might spill into the human realm, allowing some individuals to glimpse its wonders. But only the chosen could truly understand.

I let out an exasperated sigh, tossing the book aside. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

My head throbbed. It wasn’t the content itself that overwhelmed me but the feeling that these “tales” were trying to tell me something. They shouldn’t have felt so significant. They were just stories, after all—weren’t they?

---

My thoughts drifted to the figure I’d seen on the mansion’s rooftop. The memory sent a chill down my spine. How had they managed to stand so calmly on such a high and precarious surface? And those eyes—those glowing red eyes. They weren’t human. They couldn’t be.

Was it a hallucination? I wondered. After all, I’d been plagued by them before, particularly since my mother’s passing. Her voice haunted me almost daily, a cruel reminder of my loss. But this… this was different.

“Medusa,” I whispered into the still air.

That was the word the voice had uttered. It echoed in my mind now, dark and enigmatic.

A knock at my door broke my train of thought. My heart jumped, startled by the sudden noise. I never bothered locking my door, a habit born of negligence.

When the door creaked open, my breath caught. Vlad stepped inside, his presence as imposing as ever. He rarely entered my room—rarely interacted with me at all.

“Eleanor,” he said, his voice formal.

I straightened, clutching my pillow. “Why are you here? I thought you were staying at Belle’s mansion.”

“I was,” he said, closing the door behind him. “But their dreary conversations were of no interest to me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’re here—in my room. Why?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Is this even your house?” he countered.

The question struck a nerve. A lump formed in my throat, but I refused to let it show.

“Why are you acting like this?” I asked, my voice trembling.

His demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing. “Stop being weak in front of me, Eleanor.”

The words stung. I stared at him, confused. “W-What are you—”

“I’m stating the obvious. You’re weak,” he interrupted, his tone cold.

The word weak echoed in my mind. He wasn’t wrong—at least, not entirely. But his words felt more like a scolding than an insult. As though he wanted me to do something about it.

“Your mind is a battlefield,” he said, his voice steady. “Be its commander, not its soldier.”

I blinked, startled. Those words didn’t feel like his. They felt like they came from somewhere else—someone else.

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. Memories of my mother surged to the forefront of my mind, vivid and agonizing. Her final moments played out like a cruel replay, and I was powerless to stop it.

---

“Mama, no!” I cried, holding her frail body in my arms. Tears streamed down my face as the reality of her impending death crushed me.

The night was quiet, the ocean serene. It should have been a peaceful moment, but it was anything but.

“Ara...” she whispered, her voice weak.

I clung to her tighter, desperate to keep her with me. “Don’t leave me, Mama. Please.”

She managed a faint smile, one that broke my heart even more. Was she trying to reassure me? Or was she saying goodbye?

“Ara, listen to me,” she said, her breath labored. “Remember these words. They are my last.”

Her lips trembled as she spoke, her voice barely audible. I leaned closer, straining to hear her. Her words were cryptic, filled with a meaning I couldn’t grasp at the time.

And then she was gone.

The life faded from her eyes, leaving only emptiness. I screamed, clutching her lifeless body as the weight of loss consumed me.

---

I snapped back to the present, my chest heaving as I fought to steady my breathing. Tears streamed down my face, and I didn’t bother wiping them away.

Vlad stood before me, his expression unreadable. There was no pity in his eyes—only distance. It was as though he were looking at a stranger.

“Why are you like this?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

How can I command my battlefield when I’m too afraid to face it?

The question lingered as Vlad’s cold stare bore into me, unyielding and impenetrable.