Medea | ✔

04

04 | a queen wronged

It had taken days, possibly weeks, but Medea finally crawled out of her chamber. She would not have her 'friends' come and tell her how she  wrong she was for hiding. Some might have been proud of her for finally breaking free from her grief. Others could have been smug that they hadn't – or wouldn't – have a meltdown as she had.

While she had accepted (long ago) that she would never be treated as a Greek woman, the blow that her ex-husband had lain on her was unexpected. It completely crushed her, destroying her heart. The only man she had ever loved – with her entire anima and body – had deserted her. Jason had known his wife had practically worshipped the ground he touched. She would argue with him, but only because sometimes the sounds that came out of his mouth were similar to a fool's. She never did it because she hated him. That idea, that feeling, had never crossed her mind.

But he had revealed himself to be despicable, just like her father had warned he was. Medea should have trusted that her father knew what he was talking about.

She was old goods. The sort that would be widely avoided at the agora. No man with sound mind would marry her. A divorced woman? A foreigner, a sorceress? Jason, on the hand, was a different matter. Men like him were always sought after; and he had a new wife lined up. A throne, waiting for his wicked body to sit upon. Yet what did Medea have? She only had her sons from the wretched man, and a ruined reputation.

A harsh realisation had conjured itself in her mind. Like the slaves, she too had been taken as plunder from another land. As if she were a reward for Jason completing the three tasks her father had set. Three tasks that Jason would never have fulfilled, if not for Medea's quick wit and cunningness. The thought that she was merely a possession angered her. He had stolen her away from her homeland, isolating her from any family. Now that he'd had his fun, he'd thrown her away. There was nobody she could turn to.

It was likely that Jason still thought Medea was madly in love with. The kind of love that would posses her to grant him with the flame of Prometheus, had he needed it. Unfortunately, the flame in her breast she had once kindled for him was burned out. Replaced, instead, by a furious spirit. One that even the Erinyes would tremble from. Her rage coursed through her, vengeance begged to be released. Jason's punishment would be just, and well deserved.

Walking to the edge of the rocky path, she was glad that no-one was loitering. Maybe they had been warned against coming near her. It didn't matter to her – not anymore. At least if she had come up with the perfect plan, she needn't worry about anyone spoiling it. Who was there to hear of her wicked plans, and tell the victims?

"Medea!" A voice, one she had not heard, called out to her. Twisting, she recognised the man. King of Corinth, Creon. Darkness filled her stomach, churning and deforming her insides. On the outside, she kept her face neutral but the scowl stumbled upon her lips accidentally. It couldn't be helped. "I have heard whispers in the night of rage for your husband. Tales of how you despicably murdered your own brother – and I will not risk you bringing danger to my beloved daughter. To this polis." Medea said nothing, her arms crossed against her chest. "I have exiled you and your sons from my city. Take them and leave. I will not go back to the palace until I have seen you leave the city."

"Tell me, King Creon, exactly why you've decided to exile me?" Her words came out clipped, emotionless. She may have killed her brother, yet that was years ago. The only proof he even had, was from the man she had once loved. Even then, the gods had forgiven her after she had begged for her atrocious act to be wiped.

Creon looked at Medea for a few moments. She swore she could see his mind turning. Thinking of a good reason. Whatever reason he voiced, would have been good enough for him. None though, for Medea.