Blinding & Binding

On Tale Telling

A/N: okay so before you proceed, let me apologise... again... for the non-existent updates i have been giving you as of late lol. umm and i apologise for this chapter as it isn't even a full chapter. i thought that i should just upload something because its literally been months so... this will be a three part chapter ummm yea. i have honestly no excuse for it being so long other than school again. I CANNOT WAIT TO GRADUATE ISTG. anywho thanksss love you all (end note)

When I was a child, I used to drink every detail of the stories my mother told us. I loved stories and the messages they held and the promises they revealed. From lost princesses to soldiers and dragons and fairies, stories began to consume my every thought. It became clear to me as a young girl that stories were more than just tales, but a eulogy written delicately by the nimble fingers of a lost lover trying desperately to find peace in the past which had been ripped from them, forever engraved in time as legend. Stories were of a writer's lips dancing across the thousands of minds their words caressed.

My love for stories led to my appreciation of fate, future, and prophecy. And of course, with that came my devotion to Apollo. Little did I know at the time that by following this path, chasing after the stories written in the stars for generations, I would stumble into my very own unforgiving fate, one that had been cemented in the universe for an eternity before the Gods, even before the Titans had been fated to roamed the Earth.

Anguished shouts echoed through the rage of Zeus' storm.

As I sat inside the small house burning a small fire in the small makeshift hearth Medusa and I had crafted together, I listened as the aching howls echoed across the waves and onto the open arms of the land. I heard screams more often than I wanted to, but it seemed sobs racked with pain were even more frequent when the God of Thunder was angered.

It was a frightful thing, the screaming storm – one that I had no intent of wandering into. And yet, hearing the hopeless calls from the distance made my skin crawl, the fear of hope but also endless nothing haunted me much like the cries of war still did. I had seen what fear and pain did back in Troy. After so many years hidden behind walls, hours spent pleading with the Gods and walking through the blessings of prophecy, I like others had become liable to lose reason and above all else, humanity. My mind broke as did my heart. Just like hope, suffering and loss was just as defining. It tended to linger, to taunt you.

If my brothers or sisters had been here, they might have called the pain I still carried obsessive and destructive. I supposed it was obsessive and destructive, but this haunting pain was the only thing tying me to the land, to humanity, to compassion. And so, as the tortured screams danced with the howling winds and ricocheted against the foaming waves, I found myself pulled towards the cries of the ghosts.

"Let it be." The command was softer than any whisper I had heard before, but commanding, nevertheless. It was no secret that Medusa did not particularly like others. I could sense it in the way she stood and feel it under the pads of my fingers as her forehead creased. She spoke bitterly of people, always pursing her lips and changing the subject.

Medusa came to my side. Softly gliding her hands down my exposed arm, she enclosed her fingers around mine.

"You will grow used to it," Medusa continued tenderly. She started to move her thumb across the back of my hand. I knew it was a small act of comfort, but even still I imagined Medusa carving constellations across my skin.

And so, as the storm churned on, the taste of salt became less tangible on my tongue and I let the worry settle in my mind as the fragile whispers faded into the winds' crashing clutches. I fell slowly into a calming rest but not sleep; I can only describe it as more so a suspended state of consciousness.

The morning was calm. The air was moist and hot. Sweat dripped from my brow and onto my lip. Salty. But something else lingered in the air, teasing the knots of my mind. It was sweet, however, it did not resemble the same sweetness of the honey milk I enjoyed with my tea. Its aroma was softer... much softer.

Getting to my feet, I pushed the door leading out of my small hut aside. The sand – as expected – was drenched and stuck to my feet each step I took in search of the soft scent. I found myself at the edge of the island, where land met sea, pulling backwards and forwards but always together. The sweetness did not grow stronger as I had hoped, but instead continued to linger leaving me still.

Letting out a quiet groan, I screwed my face up. The scents origin was right there staring right at me. Sadly for me, I wasn't very talented in the art of staring contests and so naturally I was left unsatisfied. Frustration coiled around me like the waves licking at my legs.

I stood there, letting the water swallow me. Everything was aching. The curves of my mind being picked at and hollowed with every waking moment.

Sighing, I raised my head to the sky letting the summer warmth brandish my face. The whispers of ghosts from the previous night still lingered in my ears. Birds sang and the ghosts' cries followed. It was quite a melancholy song – one that carved its way into my chest, between my rib bones, and underneath the slight thump of my heart, finding a home in the place of darkness, settling like an owl in a hollowed tree, like a caterpillar in its cocoon, like a star in a constellation waiting in a shadowed void... It was a beautiful song.

I swivelled on the balls of my feet, ready to return to our little house when the song stopped abruptly. Instead, several sets of voices replaced the choir.

The first was, like the song, sweet and smooth. "We are alive. Gods above, we have made it another day." The voice belonged to a woman far up the coast, atop a small cliff side I liked to sit on.

In response, someone else grumbled and a thud followed. They had fallen to the ground and loose rocks scattered under their weight.

Tensing, I tried not to imagine the pain which would have rocketed through me if I had been them toppling over.

But then I heard something else that made me think the thud was not an accident but instead quite purposeful. Several kisses and praises in another voice, more masculine, echoed along the shore. "Thank the Gods. Oh my, Lydia."

People. People's voices flowing through the wind. Other living, breathing people. It was so exciting.

Running from the waves, I started back towards where I had left Medusa in our home.