ꜰᴏᴏʟꜱ ɢᴏʟᴅ|ᴘ.ᴊ|②

XIV

-PARALLELS-

   I want to tell you a story. One of ancient Greece, long before the Gods settled above the Empire State Building and below Los Angeles. A hero, leader of the Argonauts and son of Aeson, King of Iolcos in Thessaly, had his land stolen from him by his half brother Pelias. 

   The hero fled for safety and found his way to the mighty centaur, Chiron: Trainer of hero's. 

   The hero would return to his home as a young man, and Pelias would promise him his inheritance in exchange for the Golden Fleece. It was an impossible quest that no one could ever survive but he accepted anyways.

   Does this story sound familiar, dear reader? Do you understand the direction in which this story is headed?

   Jason, our hero, had a wife. Riddled with powerful magic, they called her The Enchantress. Medea was one of many witches. She helped Jason retrieve the Fleece. 

   She was utterly in love with him, would do anything for him. So on their return, Medea murdered Pelias but she and Jason were chased away by Pelias's son. They sought refuge with King Creon of Corinth. 

   But even after everything she'd done for Jason, he still deserted her for King Creon's daughter. Medea was left heartbroken and in pieces. They were married. They had a family and were supposed to be in love. But none of that seemed to matter to him. 

   The Enchantress cycled through all five stages of grief:

   Denial. 

   Anger. 

   Bargaining. 

   Depression...

   No, no she couldn't accept what he had done. How could it be so easy for someone to leave all that behind? Love was supposed to be enough, it's supposed to be a fix all just like the poets say. But love can't fix nor heal the resentment within Medea. 

   Vengeance was the only thing he cared about. The Enchantress would slaughter Jason's new wife and then their own children. It didn't matter that she had reached peak insanity, it didn't matter that her children were now gone. 

   Medea wanted Jason to hurt, she wanted to inflict more pain and violence than he had done to her.

   Pain could make people do irrational things. But betrayal calls for action. It calls for vengeance in the most brutal forms. 

── 𖤓 ──

   Above water they found themselves. Percy gave coordinates, Clarisse ordered around the army of the dead, Tyson worked to repair the ships mechanics. Their resident Goddess paces in a locked room below deck. 

   Her mind is foggy, too many thoughts being made at once. Her fists clench and unclench, sweat beads on her forehead, her eyes cloud with a distant gaze. She mutters words under her breath, fingers tap, tap, tapping on her thigh.

   Past that wonderful mist that conceals mythical secrets, hot energy floats around the room. A rainbow of sparks shoot from her arms and fingers, a black cloud swears around her. On Evangeline's sun kissed skin, her veins glow with golden light. Everything moves in flashes for the Goddess, thoughts growing louder.