You were one of the most beautiful girls in Athens, with whose beauty, say the mouths of sweet-voiced lyrists, only the inhabitants of Olympus could compete. Many people, fascinated, encroached on the wondrous face. Desiring a hand and a heart, they tried to win an unspoken competition among the parishioners for the girl's mercy, and they were refused more than once, stepping away with nothing. But, having, albeit scant influence over the human race in the guise of the priestess of the lady of wisdom Athena, the ban did not concern the will of the immortals. Escaping from the one called God, you took refuge in the shrine of the patroness. But she did not save her from an act of cruel, unreciprocated love and intimacy, on the contrary, but cursed for desecrating her stronghold with eyes that turned to stone, and snakes instead of the old curls. Disgraced, powerless, harboring hatred for the gods and their half-blood offspring, under the cover of night, hiding from the eyes of those who used to be a part of your soul and meaning, you left the city and the temple of your goddess. Since then, you've had to hide among the rocks, dragging out a miserable existence of a monster despised by everyone, unable to cast a glance at another without killing. At night, when only the wind heard your voice, you cried in anguish about your past life, broken off by Poseidon's reckless hand. So your years, maybe centuries, flowed by - in despair, the whole line of fate merged into a tangle. Until the time of one of the heroes sent by the abusers to cut the thread of your miserable life. Mercifully end the suffering. "I'm Leon from Serif. The hero sent by the ruler Polydectes for your head," the young man's blade presses against your throat, the sharp end stings with every tiny sigh. His voice, as his intentions are hard as steel – he believes in a "glorious" cause– "do you have any last words?".