Rose Geer-Robbins

Prologue

'Even One Story Left Untold Is A Tragedy.' -Book of the Veiled Instruction

The chronicles of history will judge my every move. I’ve been weighed on the scales of eternity from the moment I stepped onto this path. The verdict of history will stand for all time, and I will not be able to defend myself.

That is nothing new. Monsters rarely have the chance to tell their side of the story.

I am the mother of all supernatural. I am the creator of nightmares and dreams. Your fantasies of dark witches wielding power, vampires shimmering with unholy energy, shapeshifters morphing into dangerous beasts, and warriors ready for battle all come alive through me. Unleash your imagination and feast your eyes on a world of pure magick.

It is time for the world to remember.

It is what is owed to me.

One man has rewritten my history. And I will not stand for it anymore.

Let me tell you my truth.

I am an elemental spirit of fire, water, earth, and air. Born of the lingering magick of this world and created by the gods, I do not remember my creation. One day, I did not exist, and the next, I did. I was the first of my kind to walk on this earth.

I was blessed with grace, handsome looks, a cunning mind, and knowledge, and then sent to the mortal realm with a gift from the gods. My life had been an unending stream of pleasure, passion, and sensuality. With my looks and my wits, I had won the hearts of kings and queens and built a kingdom out of my desires.

Now, I look back on my life with a sense of loss.

The world was different back then. Lush, green, and unspoiled. Animals I haven’t seen in thousands of years wandered in herds across the massive territory. Fields of crops and fruits grew everywhere, unaided and plentiful. The land stretched out mile after mile, as far as the eye could see, constrained only by the horizon. There were no walls, only endless fields spotted with flowers, grasses, and trees. It was a beautiful world, and I remember being in awe.

Then it all changed—humanity’s desire to expand and build increasingly encroached on the land. Families became progressively larger, then homes, towns, cities, and finally, countries were established. Instead of seeking peace and abundance, wealth and authority became the rallying call of the mortals. They viewed the supernatural with hatred. For them, only our deaths satisfied their desire for dominance.

But I was given the key to ending the chaos. The item the gods had given me was sealed in a container, untouched and overlooked until it called to me. A sweet melody echoed through the air, promising retribution for my children’s untimely end.

And I answered the call. Holding it in my hands, it shined like the sun, blinding me to its contents. Lights danced and flashed around me in a myriad of colors as if a prism was set aflame. It was a box made of cypress wood, light honey brown, with a golden sun engraved on one side. The other side was smooth and unscratched, with a word engraved that promised revenge.

Inside the box lay a jar, a key, and a note. The key was warm to the touch, searing my hand with its heat and brimming with magick. The message from my creators reminded me of my purpose for being sent.

The gods had sent me as punishment. My sole purpose was to bring despair and destruction to the unworthy. The box smelled of blood, death, regret, and loss. It was bitter and vile, like acid on the tongue, like honeysuckle wine left out in the sun for far too long, the taste of a broken heart.

One word.

It takes only one word to know the meaning of true evil.

Pandora.

Chapter 1- Medusa

13th Century BCE, Sarpedon Island

The silence engulfs me, a deafening orchestra of emptiness. It is a haunting symphony that plays in an endless loop. A constant reminder that I will never hear another mortal’s voice again.

Unless it is screaming.

The haunting memories of my hunter’s final moments will forever remain mine. Unless, by chance, you visit my garden. There, among the overgrown vines and wilting flowers, you can witness for yourself the stark reality of death in all its unfiltered rawness.

Eternity.

Have you ever wondered how long that is? Even if you multiplied a billion by a billion, it would not compare to a single fraction in the vastness of infinity.

That was my sentence. An eternity of silence. A cruel punishment for a crime I did not commit.

My story will forever remain untold, buried in darkness and forsaken by those in control. When even the gods fear you, they will stop at nothing to eradicate your existence.

But I’m ready to share my story with you. Even the memories that haunt my dreams.

And once I’ve shared my truth, it will be up to you whether or not to remember it.

My name is Medusa. I was formerly the high priestess, a sister, and the most beloved woman in the country.

Now, I am a monster.

Chapter 2- Medusa

13th Century BCE, Athens, Greece

Medusa was just a child when she and her sisters were shepherded to Athena’s temple in Athens to start their training as future priestesses. Old enough to understand the magnitude of the honor bestowed upon them. Young enough to be naive about how it would change their lives.

Especially Medusa’s.

Their parents were caught off guard when Athena suddenly announced that their daughters were now under her guardianship.

Their mother tried to prepare them. Warn them about the potential dangers of being a follower of Athena.

But the allure of the bustling streets and the grandeur of the temple were too captivating for the young girls to ignore.

It wasn’t until years later that Medusa would look back on their first day with a heavy heart. Regretting deeply her decision not to heed her mother’s advice and escape.

Over the next decade, the sisters were fully immersed in their studies, attending a diverse array of classes. They delved into the intricacies of music and art, explored the depths of history, pondered the complexities of philosophy, honed their social etiquette, and committed to the memory of the pantheon of gods and their unique abilities.

None more important than Athena, of course.

All their hard work and preparations had led up to this moment.

The city was abuzz with anticipation as it readied for the Panathenaea, a festival dedicated to honoring Athena. Amidst the excitement, all eyes were on Medusa, who was on the brink of her first official appearance as the newly anointed high priestess.

With an unwavering devotion to her goddess, Medusa meticulously managed every aspect of the event - from organizing meals to overseeing the construction of a new stadium for the competitions. Her dedication was palpable, and it was this commitment that earned her the respect and admiration of the city.

As the first day of celebration dawned, Medusa was not filled with excitement but annoyance.

A servant had rudely awakened her to deal with a heated dispute between the butcher and chef over the quality of a recent meat delivery. Their argument echoed through the halls as Medusa groggily stumbled out of bed, threw on her robe, and hastily pulled back her hair. She reluctantly made her way towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, anticipating the chaos that awaited her.

The butcher and the chef were constantly arguing. Medusa had hoped that today, of all days, they would put aside their differences, but it seemed that the gods had ignored her prayers.

Thankfully, she managed to diffuse the situation, taking responsibility for inspecting the delivery herself. For two long hours, she carefully scrutinized each cut of meat and slab of fish, enduring the pungent smells of raw oysters and uncooked liver that filled the kitchen chamber.

By the time she was done, she made a solemn vow to never subject herself to such torture again. But she left with the butchers’ sincere gratitude and a guarantee from the chef that the meal would be the star of the event.

Medusa’s problems didn’t end there.

As she made her way down the dimly lit corridor towards her room, she collided with a young accolade who had been searching for her. Wide-eyed with fear, the girl ushered Medusa toward the temple.

Urgency filled the air as they hurried past the towering pillars, intricate tapestries depicting the creation of Athens, and elaborate murals of Athena’s conquests.

As the heavy doors flew open, Medusa covered her mouth with the sleeve of her gauzy gown, shielding herself from the thick smoke and spicy scent of incense that permeated the air. Her eyes welled with tears as she stepped into the room, gasping in shock at the sight before her.

The flickering light from countless candles cast an eerie glow on the walls, giving the illusion that the entire room was engulfed in flames. A thick haze of smoke hid the altar as Medusa stumbled through the room, searching for the artist she’d hired, ready to throttle him.

According to the accolade, he’d fled in a panic after setting one of the priceless tapestries on fire. With a frustrated sigh, Medusa spent the next hour scurrying through the temple, gathering and hiding half of the candles and incense, stashing them in a back closet, locking the door, and swearing never to hire the bumbling artist again.

Athena would not tolerate anyone burning down her temple.

Covered from head to toe in a thin layer of soot and ash, Medusa trudged wearily towards her quarters, the weight of the day already weighing heavy on her shoulders. Before she got to her door, a servant ushered her outside to yet another problem that demanded her immediate attention.

Powerful winds had ravaged the once neat rows of tents set up along the sandy shorelines of the Argean Sea, their flimsy structures no match for the storm. An unusually high tide had swept away the carefully laid-out racetrack, leaving nothing behind but scattered debris and destruction. Where there had been spectator seating, large boulders were haphazardly strewn about in a chaotic mess.

Gods help us all, Medusa thought as she rubbed her temples.

She had no doubt it was the work of Poseidon. Despite the city’s official declaration of Athena as its patron, the rivalry between the two gods never ceased. The devastation before her was just another demonstration of their ongoing war.

As men scurried about, clearing away the wreckage and resetting the area, Medusa stood at the edge of the churning sea. She held out a small offering, a humble plea to Poseidon, whose moods could destroy all of her hard work. Her voice rose above the waves, begging him to leave Athens alone for the week and promising he had not been forgotten.

She knew the gods were fickle creatures, swayed by flattery and appeased by stroking their egos. If she played along with his childish demands, he would stop acting like a child throwing a tantrum.

An hour later, the winds died, and the sky cleared, revealing a stunning, cloudless afternoon.

Medusa was staring into the distance, deep in thought, when her sisters found her. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled as they walked up. Stheno’s fierce emerald green eyes gave away her annoyance as she approached, looking like she was preparing for war. On the other hand, Euryale had a playful grin on her lips as she pushed back a stray strand of her luscious copper hair.

The sisters’ resemblance was striking, but that’s where the similarities between them ended.

Stheno, the eldest, was a formidable force to be reckoned with. Her eyes, sharp as daggers and fiercely protective of her younger sibling, could strike fear into even the bravest warriors. She stood tall and unyielding, bearing the weight of their family’s reputation on her shoulders.

When the sisters were reprimanded for even the slightest infraction during their training, Stheno always stepped forward to take the blame. She was their unwavering guardian—their rock in times of turmoil and their champion in times of need.

Euryale, the middle child, had a natural charisma that instantly put others at ease. Her kind smile and gentle presence were contagious. When they first arrived in Athens, it was Euryale who stayed up late at night, telling Medusa stories and easing her homesickness.

Her talents went beyond emotional support. She oversaw tending to the sick who sought refuge at the temple, caring for them with tireless patience and always crediting the gods for their miraculous recovery.

Medusa was destined to become the high priestess, but her sisters had carried her to the altar.

“Medusa, it’s time,” Euryale called out softly.

Medusa glanced over her shoulder to take in the sea one last time, sighing heavily, wishing she could escape into its depths. She squared her shoulders, eyes shining with determination, and announced, “Let the games begin.”

Chapter 3- Danaë

8th Century BCE, Argos, Greece

It had been ages since I last thought of her.

Whenever memories come flooding back, I distract myself. Reading, painting, sewing, or pacing around my room—anything to push away the thoughts of the person I had sentenced to death.

A life for a death. Not a fair exchange, but one I made willingly.

I feel Charon’s presence nearby, waiting for my impending death and ready to ferry me to the Otherworld. I just don’t know what is taking him so long.

Unless it’s because he has been told not to.

I wouldn’t put it past the gods.

All I have left is the deafening silence: silence and constant reminders of my sins. My only regret is that my story will never be shared. It will remain hidden in the shadows of history, slowly fading into oblivion.

I have been nothing but a pawn in a twisted game of power, moved across the board by the hands of those who were supposed to protect me.

Until the day I was given the power over life and death.

Now, I face the consequences of my choice. But before I go, I want to reveal my life’s raw and unfiltered truth to you. Then, you can decide if my name deserves to be etched into history’s memory.

My name is Danaë. I was once a princess, a beloved wife, and the woman who sent a child to find a weapon that could kill the gods.

Now, I am a murderer.