Samael | The Child of Medusa (GREEK MYTHOLOGY)

Chapter 47

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Chapter 47

"Samael?"

Medusa's voice echoed through the cavern, a haunting melody that seemed to both beckon and repel. Samael, her estranged son, stood before her, feeling the weight of her words like chains around his heart. Her voice, once familiar, now felt like a distant memory tainted with anguish.

As Samael struggled to compose himself, he couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the serenity of her voice and the turmoil within him. It was as if she had spent an eternity screaming into the void, her vocal cords worn raw by the agony of her existence.

With a heavy sigh, Samael attempted to steady his trembling hands, a futile effort in the presence of the one who had haunted his dreams for so long. He lowered his gaze, unable to bear the intensity of her stare.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Medusa's feet moved towards him, each step like a thunderclap in the silence of the cave. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears like a war drum heralding impending doom.

Then, without warning, he felt her embrace envelop him, a suffocating cocoon from which there was no escape. Her touch sent shivers down his spine, and her lips curved into a smile that spoke of relief and longing.

"Samael... Oh, my child, Samael," she murmured, her voice dripping with sweetness yet tinged with an undercurrent of something darker.

But Samael remained frozen, his arms hanging limply at his sides as he stared into the abyss of the cave. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, leaving him adrift in a sea of shadows with no shore in sight.

Slowly, Medusa pulled away, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong, Samael? Don't you miss me? Isn't that why you've come?"

His gaze met hers, eyes burning with a mixture of anger and exhaustion. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not here for that, Mother."

Medusa's lips trembled, a look of hurt flashing across her face. "What do you mean?"

With a sudden burst of rage, Samael seized her shoulders, his hands trembling with pent-up emotion. Medusa recoiled, her eyes widening in shock as he spoke, his voice a low growl in the cavernous silence.

"What have you done to me, Mother?" he demanded, his words echoing off the walls like a curse.

Pushing him away, Medusa's own rage erupted like a volcano, her eyes blazing with an otherworldly fire. "What are you saying? I've done nothing!"

But Samael refused to back down, his resolve as unyielding as the stone that surrounded them. And as the echoes of their confrontation faded into the darkness, he knew that the answers he sought lay buried deep within the heart of the labyrinthine cave, waiting to be uncovered.

His heart skipped a beat, a familiar rhythm to the turmoil within. It was a cycle he knew all too well. His mother, adept at feigning ignorance, would later collapse into contrition, seeking forgiveness for her transgressions against both him and herself. Yet, with each passing moment, clarity sharpened his vision, rendering him unable to endure the facade any longer.

Reason snapped like a taut rope as Samael rose abruptly, his eyes ablaze with a tempest of rage and despair. "Enough!" His voice reverberated through the cavern, shaking its very foundations. "Do not feign ignorance this time! How could you curse your own son? Your sole companion on that desolate wasteland!"