Why did you love her?

Her children, young with rounded cheeks and mirth just behind the eyes as new life blossomed and curiosities became knowledge… dead.

Dead by her own hands.

Jason had been a falsehood, a lie woven by the gods for her own abandonment. She’d given him far too much, her father’s trust tossed aside and her brother’s right as heir slaughtered by a blade.

She expected nothing short of a happy ending, a tale of a maiden winning her battles by proving nothing short of loyalty and commitment to the great hero of The Argo. Loving him… all she’d ever done.

Though, those blisses of marriage and compassion always seemed to fade as soon as Aphrodite’s hands removed themselves from her eyes and Hera ceased kissing her thoughts with hope and roses stopped blossoming beneath the eyes.

the death of a poor, young woman, who did not deserve what was given to her.

But who has asked Medea if she had been given what she deserved?

She waited there tentatively, standing with the grand throne room of Athens where you sat. staring at the entrance through her dark eyes, waiting, and waiting. Praying yet loathing for a safe return.

You’d been away to that of Megara, where your kindred ruled, she assumed for wines and festivities. Perhaps a woman in your arms. upon your lap to feed you the grapes of Dionysus’s vine.

The daughter of Aeëtes gave her ghost of composure, her fingers did twitch as she noted your form upon horse with men in your steed. No woman nor child—good. Good.

The daughter of Aeëtes went out of the Athenian palace to greet you, her heart to race as she did so, feeling as if that young foolish girl who fell to Jason’s arms.