She sits in the garden day after day, the roses overflowing in waves like the sea. She is pale, and her skin is unmarred by the sun, though she spends countless hours of her empty life in the garden, trying to cover up her many sins with mountains of roses. The garden grows each year, as there are more of them to hide with each passing season. Hunched over in the dirt, she plants roses at the base of a tree where an unfortunate fawn once caught her eye. As she works, a bird’s song floats through the air, distracting her and causing her to forget herself for a moment. She turns her head to search for the source of the sound, and all at once it has stopped. A happy little stone bird stares back at her from its branch in the tree.

-o-O-o-

Medusa couldn’t remember anything of her life before she became a Gorgon. She spent her days in icy, quiet isolation; any creature who happened to stumble upon her in her seclusion instantly became another cold reminder of her fate.

Life was a lonely ordeal. The endless monotony of her life left her feeling empty and hopelessly alone. Once she had tried to drown herself in a nearby stream, but the cruel curse that left her alone also left her unable to die. She slowly felt herself freeze, and lost all warmth and emotion. For years she prayed for change, for anything to remind her that she was still alive and not in some frigid purgatory, but the days continued to flow into one another, and soon it had been several decades, and she still had nothing but cold, hard stone and acres upon acres of roses.

One day, after spending the lonely hours of the morning bent over in the garden, urging the roses to grow over the statue of an ill-fated fox, Medusa slowly drifted towards the stream to rinse the dirt from her hands. She’s never in a rush, because there’s never anyplace to be, anything to do, anyone else to answer to. The stream was uncharacteristically smooth, and as Medusa knelt to dip her hands into the cool water, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Cold gray eyes and hair that slithered and hissed stared back at her. She jumped back, running her fingers through her smooth, fine hair, still not used to the frightening illusion of the snakes. Another part of her punishment for a crime she couldn’t even remember committing.

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the tall grasses of the field beyond Medusa’s extensive gardens. Hidden by the tall reeds that lined the river, she saw a young man stalking through the grass, spear in hand. For a moment, Medusa froze. It had been ages since a human being had come anywhere near her home. He was tall and warm and dark, and she marveled at the way the muscles in his legs and shoulders shifted as he walked.

‘He’s looking for me,’ she thought sadly. From time to time, young men seeking fame or glory would search her out specifically. And she’d killed them all, each and every one of them. They were now buried under mountains of roses with a strange expression of fear and awe permanently etched into their stone faces. It would be most merciful for her to hide, and let the young man search for her in vain and escape with his life, but at the sight of him, her heart froze.

Before she even realized it, she was crawling through the tall grasses, and drawing as close to him as she dared. After all, it had been so long since she’d even seen a live human being. She watched his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath, soaked in the light in his warm amber eyes which were shifting about anxiously, never quite finding the girl hiding among the reeds.

Medusa’s hands itched with longing as she drew even nearer to the young man. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to touch another person, and yearned for human contact more than anything else in the world. The man stopped for a moment, holding his breath and shivering as Medusa drifted closer and closer, until her outstretched hand was mere inches from his muscular calf. She felt his body twisting as he turned to look at her, spear at the ready. Squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could, she heard the young man gasp and drop his weapon.

“But…” he said shakily, “You’re so beautiful.” Shocked, Medusa’s eyes flew open to rest upon his face, which bore an expression she had never seen before, an unfamiliar warmth and astonishment flowing freely from his bright amber eyes. And all at once, the light faded, and he was nothing more than a statue with a kind face. Desperately, Medusa threw herself at him, praying that the stone still retained some of the young man’s warmth. She threw her arms about his neck, and desperately pressed her lips to his, but it was already too late, the curse is complete, and the lips that had only moments ago spoken to her were cold and lifeless, and she felt something inside herself crack.

With a small sigh, she knelt on the ground, pulling a small package from her pocket. Soundlessly digging a small hole at the young man’s feet, she poured in the seeds she had been saving for something worthwhile.

“Forget-me-nots,” she whispered thickly, tenderly covering the seeds with the soft earth, “I was getting tired of roses.”

And then she laughed like crying, and for the first time since she could remember, watered the earth with her tears.