The Gorgon's Kiss

by Cobalt Jade  (2/7/98)



I saw the house as I rode into town: a stately marble villa that flashed white fire from the sun. I halted my horse and stared. A fresh breeze from the sea stirred my long hair under my helmet. Though I was an Amazon I had not cut it. Nor did I cut off my breast. Those are only stories, told by jealous men discomfited by our skill as warriors.

A peasant with a donkey-cart passed me on the road, taking a load of grain to market. "Greetings, friend," I said. "Who lives in that house at the top of the hill?"

The peasant was as brown and gnarled as an ancient root, and he spat. "They call her the Gorgon," he said. "She turns men into stone!"

"Oh?" I said, amused. I had traveled the length of Hellas while this man had probably never been more than a day's journey from home, and I knew that Homer's tales of nymphs and chimaerae were patently false...though once I had seen a monster's bones preserved in layers of rock. "If that is so, why don't the people of the town rise up against her and drive her away, hiding their faces as Perseus did with his shield?"

He had no answer; just spat again and moved on.

I glanced up at the villa again. It was odd to find such a large dwelling here, as we were many miles from Corinth. There was nothing special about this area to attract the wealthy: no great natural beauty, no cave-dwelling oracles, no mineral springs. Perhaps the house belonged to an ancestral family of this land. I touched my heels to my horse and rode into town.

The town was called Agrinon, and it was a bustling place. I bought a meal from a vendor and looked over the goods, as I needed certain items: new leather sandals, metal pins, a sack to replaced the patched one that carried my belongings. The vendors had never seen an Amazon before and they were eager to serve me. I am tall and well muscled, free of scars for the most part, and my face still looked youthful. Lovers remarked on the sensual curve of my mouth, the lean lines of my hips and belly. My breasts were still as large and firm as two wineskins, visible even under the worn mail armor I wore. As I took care of my business, I asked the townspeople about the house on the hill. 

"A gorgon? Ridiculous!" a tall wine merchant said. "A young girl lives there, cousin to a great family in Corinth. A fair maiden, cultured, demure; yet sharp with her business dealings. Her name is Medusina. I had dinner with her only last week, and I assure you she is no monster."

"She manages alone?"

"Her parents left her their olive groves and their vineyards, and they turn her a profit. She could marry, I suppose; but none of the young men about here have caught her fancy. I've heard she pines secretly for a youth in the city."

"I've come from Corinth," I said.

"Then she will be pleased to see you and exchange gossip. I would pay her a visit if I were you. The comforts of her house are far better than any you'd find in town."

I thanked the man and, having made my purchases, set off for the villa. The road snaked up into the hills through the vineyards the man had spoken of. The vines dangled grapes of dark amethyst that would make a rich wine. A crumbling wall of plastered brick, much mended, surrounded the house. I passed through the gate and two slaves paused to look up at me, caught in their chores. "I've come from Corinth," I said. "My name is Hippolyte, and I am an Amazon mercenary. I hear your mistress is anxious for news of the city."

"She is," one said cautiously. "Wait here. I will fetch her for you." I dismounted and let the other slave lead off my horse. The villa looked smaller than it had from the road, and though its edifice was still grand, it was in need of repair. Weeds grew between the paving stones of the courtyard, and the marble columns had been cracked and whitewashed. Butterflies flitted about the flowering vines, and the scent of sage and verbena hung heavy in the air.

The slave reappeared at the door. "I've told my mistress you are here. Come with me to the bath, where you may refresh yourself."

I followed him inside. The cool stone walls gave a delicious shelter from the sun. The bath was a small room cordoned off by curtains. A design of nereids and porpoises had been worked into the tiles of the floor. I shrugged off my mail, leg greaves, and chiton and settled into the pool. After I had soaked and scrubbed to my heart's content I put on the clean robe the slave had left me, then brushed and bound my hair. I then left the bath for the parlor of the house.

The mistress of the place, Medusina, was already there, fingers idly plucking at a cithera. I caught my breath. She was fair, and young; as fresh as the blooms in the courtyard garden. She raised her eyes to look at me as I came in, her long, thick lashes darting up. They were as black and heavy as soot, and her hair, too, was black...a full head of lush, coiled ringlets the beribboned elegance of her chignon could barely contain. Her dewy lips parted like the petals of a rose. Indeed, she was no monster. Quite the opposite. 

I bowed before her to show my respect. "My name is Hippolyte. I've brought you news from Corinth, my lady, as I was told you would want to hear it."

"I do," she said, her voice firm but girlish and high. She looked about seventeen, but I could have been wrong. She set aside her musical instrument, her lithe white arms tracing a graceful motion. Underneath her chiton, her body looked slim and pliant. I smiled. I had fine appreciation of a woman's body, from the years I had spent on the isle of Lesbos. "Phaedrus, fetch the Amazon a chair."

One of the slaves brought back a chair and I sat, arranging my long robes. I was not used to woman's clothing. The other slaves brought us cool wine from the cellar. We talked. Her manner was self-assured yet elusive. I found myself becoming more and more attracted...as if she was a small, wild animal, shy yet strong, that I might capture in my hands and caress in its fierceness. 

It had been afternoon when I arrived, and now the sun touched the hills in the west. Soon it would be dusk. Smells of cooking came to me--meat, cinnamon, bread. "We shall dine in the garden," Medusina said, rising from her chair. "I would like to continue this conversation into tomorrow. You may stay the night if you wish."

Through an arch we came out into a walled garden with a balcony that overlooked the sea. Dates and palms grew there, and citrus trees with yellow fruit. Flowering shrubs sent their perfume into the air. But what really drew the eye were the statues. There were about a dozen of them, all nude, and of a superb comeliness. All seemed to be caught in some sort of erotic bliss. Here was a wide-eyed young woman, her head thrown back; there a handsome man, his organ raised, his arms outstretched as if clutching an invisible lover. All details had been rendered with exquisite care: the wrinkled buds of the nipples, the curls of the loins, the parted lips with the hint of teeth and tongues. 

"You must be wealthy indeed, to afford many fine statues," I said, choosing to overlook their prurient nature for the time being.

Medusina only smiled. "It was my mother who made them. She became a libertine after my father's death. Every time she left a lover, she would hire an artisan to carve them in stone. I had a strange childhood, growing up at the feet of these silent giants."

Strange indeed, and even stranger yet to eat dinner surrounded by them. Torches were lit as the twilight deepened, and the flickering shadows made the statues seem to move in the corners of my vision. I would turn my head, expecting to catch them in motion, but they remained as still and silent as before. No wonder the townspeople called her the Gorgon. How could they not, on seeing these frozen figures?

"Do you go into town much?" I asked.

"Rarely." She took a sip of wine, the quiver of her long lashes betraying her agitation. The torchlight made sketches of warmth across her flawless skin. "The people don't understand me, that I prefer to be alone, with my servants and slaves."

"They tell stories about you."

She smiled without amusement. "I know. That I am a witch, that I am deformed. As if the veil I wear is anything other than the veil a noble lady wears to protect her skin. That and my name, which can only mean *Medusa* to them..."

How wrong it was for the townspeople to shun her. She was a strong personality, independent of spirit. I could see why she would not be forced into taking a husband she did not want merely to give herself respectability. Men make the laws that give them charge of women, and they are enraged when a woman defies their expectations. Women, too, are just as cruel. They see another woman's freedom and wish to destroy it, because it only demonstrates to them their own chains. 

"I too, have fought that battle," I said quietly. "I left Themiscyra at the same age as you. When I started on my career of war, rarely did I see another Amazon. Rarely did I make a friend amongst the men I fought with. They respected my sword, but they saw only my breasts. The closest companions I've had are the fey youths in the pleasure-houses. We are of little use to each other, so no rivalries or resentments can develop."

Medusina smiled at that, a true smile. My heart warmed to see it. "Perhaps you've made another friend," she said.

We retired inside, where a slave played the cithera with a plekton, striking melodious chords. The night was warm and lazy outside, the full moon a crouching beast, tawny as a lioness. A faint smell of salt came from the sea, and one of old stone that had stood for a century. It had the taste of earth, the tang of minerals. Medusina read from a scroll of poetry, one of the many she owned. How virginal she looked, how finely made.

"You die, O thrice desired
And my desire has flown like a dream.
Gone with you is the girdle of my beauty,
But I myself must live..."

"Are you lonely, Medusina?" I said.

She stopped her recitation, looking up at me. The dim light of the torch was behind her and I saw the outline of her waist and legs through the thin linen chiton she wore. Her nipples formed two dark flowers under the pleated fabric. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "I--" she began, then swallowed. Her eyes were very dark, as dark as the sky with its glimmering of stars that could have been tears. "I am content."

I touched her cheek, brushing a stray tendril of hair away. Mesmerized, she did nothing to stop me; the heavy gold necklace she wore rose and fell against her chest. "You are beautiful, Medusina." I lightly traced the lines of her creamy shoulders, savoring the softness, the delicate tracery of bones beneath their surface. She was tense, coiled as a gazelle about to leap. But she did not. It betrayed her passion to me, her unspoken need. "I would lie in love with you tonight, if you would have me."

She flushed. We had both drunk much wine; that, and the intoxicating nature of the night, were working on us. "You don't know what you're asking," she said, her voice high and whispery with fear.

So my young Medusina was a virgin, or inexperienced. Well, I would soon have a remedy for that. I unclasped her heavy necklace and slid it off, baring her neck to me, and moved my lips closer to her ear, the warmth of my mouth tickling her, teasing her, as I knew it would. "I am very skilled." I planted a kiss, a small one, at the corner of her jaw. "Did I tell you I spent two years on the isle of Lesbos, with Sappho and Alcaeus? The things they taught me, my dear. You would blush just to hear the most anecdotal of them." I took her chin in my hand, and turned her head around to face me. "Kiss me, Medusina, and you will not be alone tonight."

Her lashes fluttered, dropped. Her mouth moved towards mine as if she was hypnotized. Her lips parted, closed on mine.

Kissing her was like partaking of a spring day: fresh and new and wild. Her tongue was a delicate snake, slow to rouse, but pliant and yielding to mine. I brought my hands up to feel her young breasts, kneading them through the linen. The contrast of warm flesh and the harshly pleated yet flexible fabric made me excited. I felt my sex grow moist. Her nipples were like burning coals. I felt them harden beneath my palms, and longed to quench them in my mouth. 

She pressed her firm belly into mine, her mouth growing more demanding. She tasted delicious, and I was having a hard time keeping myself from pouncing. This young girl was almost half my age. 

"Do you think," I said softly, "That we should retire into a more appropriate room?"

"Yes," she whispered, the tiny word hiding a universe of unexplored feelings, feelings she did not recognize even herself.

She turned away, but it was only to dismiss her slave, who, ensconced behind a curtain, had not seen what his mistress was doing. We went to her sleeping chamber. Bowls of dried herbs gave off a spicy scent like that of a woman's body. Her bed had four posts that draped curtains of gauze, which a breeze from the windows stirred into motion. In one corner of the room stood a long mirror, an unimaginable luxury. I wondered what from land it had come. I noted the position of the bed, the angle of the mirror, and smiled. This night would be very enjoyable. As Medusina turned her back to light a few candles, I undid the pins of my robe to let it fall around my ankles. 

She gasped when she saw me nude. I was well aware of the effect I had on lovers. My body is athletic and powerful, a weapon of war, but I am a woman too--my hips and buttocks and breasts attest to that--and the warm glow of the candlelight traced these feminine contours, giving them coronas bright as the flash of shields and polished swords. Yet my muscles and sinews were prominent as well, standing out with sculpted hardness. I was no soft, coddled beauty like the one who awaited me. Yet I longed for her, she that was all I was not, because she would make me complete.

Medusina blushed. I pressed my palms against her shoulders and gently guided her to the soft embroidered coverlet of the bed. We sat side by side, I nude, she dressed, and her hands gripped the hard wooden edges of the frame. I touched her chin to raise it in two fingers. "Don't be afraid," I said. "I am gentle."

"I know," she said in a quiet strangled voice. "I sense goodness in you. Oh I cannot--"

"Hush, Medusina." I kissed her soft mouth, probing it gently. "Put your arms around me." I felt her hands move behind my shoulders, wrists crossed, defenseless. I brought up my own hands behind her and deftly removed the two jeweled pins at her shoulders that held the front and back of her chiton together. The garment fell open, slithered down to her waist.

"Oh--" Medusina said, making a weak start to snatch it up. I stayed her wrists.

"No. Let me see you." I held her wrists at bay in one hand, assessing her like a slave-trader. Her muscles trembled, but she was no match for my strength. Her breasts were small and high, her nipples contracting like buds about to open. Beneath them, a faint ripple of ribs shuddered with her struggles. I drew her down so we both lay on the bed, facing each other, and ran my hand down her flank. My tanned skin was a vivid contrast against her ivory flesh. My fingers paused at her waist, then swiftly pulled down the rest of her chiton.

She was lovely, slim yet strong, her skin as pale and creamy as the flowers outside. How I longed to see that naked body walking in front of me, prancing, running, leaping, exposing to me all its variations of movement and attitude, but that would come later. Still holding her captive, I untied the silk ribbons that held her chignon together. Her thick black curls burst free, coiling like serpents over her shoulders, a lush purple-black like the ripening grapes of the vineyard. At her loins was a second mound of hair which hid a greater treasure. 

Her breasts swung gently as I laid her on her back. I ran my fingertips across her coral-colored nipples, and they puckered still more under my experienced pressure. "You want me to touch you, don't you Medusina?" I whispered.  

"Yes..." she said in a strangled voice. Her eyes stared at me, yearning, but no longer afraid.

I began to explore her. I squeezed those young breasts, holding them like two frightened doves that beat against her ribcage. I tasted her face and neck, skimmed my callused hand over her belly. I gently parted her thighs, fingers playing with her pubic curls. I felt like a child with a doll, but no doll had ever given such sharp gasps of pleasure, such warm sighs of bliss. I bade her be still; I wanted her to be passive yet. I slipped my hand beneath her, caressing the silky mounds of her buttocks, parting them, my fingertips skimming, but not touching, the pursed bud of her anus.

Her skin grew hot, feverish. She jerked as I touched her sex, her sleeping clit brought suddenly to life, hissing like a snake...the Medusa...her almost-namesake.

I drew her hands toward my body, holding them against my breast. "Touch me now, darling. Take my nipple between your fingers; squeeze it softly, pull it towards you. Yes, that's it..."

Her slender hands kneaded my breasts like sweet-bread dough. They were much larger than her own, without the buoyancy of youth; but the contrast they made with the hard flesh of my torso seemed to fascinate her. She pinched my nipples between her thumb and forefinger, rotating the nubs between her fingertips. The treatment made them harden almost painfully, pointing like the tips of two spears.  

"Suckle me, Medusina. Use your mouth..."

She attacked my nipples like a hungry lion cub would its mother. The firm wet suction of her mouth made them stiffen further, strain towards the very teeth and tongue that tormented them. 

"Easy, young one," I said, with a warning tap on her head.

But she only moved rapidly from one to the other, her hands attending to the unmouthed breast, squeezing its bounty, tormenting its protuberant single eye. Her head bobbed between my breasts as she suckled, the soft skin of her cheeks caressing their sides, her hair tickling my chest. Now it was my turn to gasp helplessly.

She grew rougher and I squirmed on the coverlet, my hips rising up. I thrust my hand between my legs, pumping myself on my own fingers. Medusina's eager tongue continued to swirl around my nipples, striking them back and forth, then beginning the sweet suckling anew. I was her captive now. My breathing grew rapid, and hers grew hoarse. I was going to come. I did not often come from breast stimulation alone, but Medusina was very beautiful.

Then she stopped. Lost in her own passion, she was fingering herself, squeezing her own nipples.

Oh, the innocent thing, thinking two women together each played a solo and not a duet. I quickly clamped my lips over hers, kissing her deeply.

She moaned deep in her throat as my tongue explored her mouth. Her nipples were the prisoners of my fingers now, and like any good interrogator, I made them give up all they knew. Her belly undulated against mine, and we moved as one again, sometimes face to face, sometimes belly to back, our hands moving, exploring, always on the prowl. 

But as our lovemaking progressed, Medusina broke off again and again. Indeed, she seemed actually averse to stimulating me. Her passions would drive her to feast on me, then, as I was about to reach orgasm, she would leave off that part of my body to attack another or stimulate herself. I put it down to her inexperience. I did not mind that much, as I got just as much joy out of watching her young body writhe, impaled on her slim steeple of her fingers, as I would from it straining and yearning against my own, so the frustration of my own abated pleasure could be borne; but still, I found it disturbing. I would only gently guide her attention back to me, letting my fingers take the place of her own. 

Our passion mounted, and the frustration of that passion, and finally sweet Medusina was on her back, her slim legs high in the air as I devoured her dripping sex. I ran my tongue down one fold, then the other, then thrust it deep inside her. She whimpered as if tortured, her clit as hard and pointed as a pomegranate seed. I sucked it harder, my nose buried in her abundant pubic hair, and her cries became louder, a rising ululation that threatened to wake the servants of the house. Her feet arched, toes pointed, her raised legs as graceful as the necks of two swans...and between them a tawny pantheress crouched lapping at a stream, long brown hair tumbled about its prey, talons scraping its straining thighs. 

Medusina's body heaved. I held her hips, grounding her. Her head flew back and forth on the pillow, eyes wanton slits; her own fingers plucked at her swollen nipples. A long wordless keen rose from her throat: "Oh....oh....oh...ah...AHHH!" 

She shrieked, her head rising off the pillow, her legs trembling. Her nether regions contracted hard against my tongue. Then she shrank down, silent, breathing very hard.

I rose from my crouch and curled up against her. Her eyelids flickered as she acknowledged me. "Oh, 'Lyte..." she gasped. "I did not think..."

"Your first time, my darling, is always overwhelming," I said in my wisdom. I poured her and myself another glass of wine. "Let's rest a bit, then you shall do to me what I have done to you."

I felt her muscles tense, even though we did not touch. Why was this girl so averse to giving me an orgasm? Perhaps she was afraid she was not skilled enough. I drew close and kissed each nipple, which pouted at me, pinkish-red and sleepy, from the snowy cones of her breasts. "I could have twenty orgasms just watching you, Medusina. Drink your wine quickly. Let's not delay."

She was reluctant, or perhaps just coy. But soon we were wickedly entangled again, Medusina with an even greater abandonment than before. This time, I made her give to me, and I gave back in even greater measure. We struggled like two beasts, though whether we mated or fought, I do not know. She was as wild as a Maenad, one of the fierce girls of Bacchus. I imagined her running through the forest in animal skins, tearing the creatures she met apart with her teeth. I sorely wished for one of the double-headed phalluses the Bacchantae use in their rites, but tongues would have to do. Mouth to loin we lay sealed together, she riding me, her sex split over my face as I licked her hot, tart folds. In return she hooked my clit with her tongue, and my hips use and fell in shallow motions. This time, I decided, she would give me my climax.

She squealed in surprise as I quickly scooped her up, upside-down, and placed her on her knees on the goat's hair rug before the mirror. I grabbed the wineskin and poured the remaining contents over my belly. The rich, red wine swiftly ran down into my crotch. "This time," I said, half-playfully, half-warningly, "You will scoop up every drop of that wine with your tongue, young one, until I scream in pleasure."

Medusina quickly snapped her head up. I expected her to say no, so I quickly pressed her face between my legs before she could refuse.

She did not refuse, for now she was as drunk on passion as I was. She began to lick, and this time, she did not stop. Her tongue teased me up and down, vibrating as rapidly as the wing-beats of a bird. My fingers wound in her thick, curly hair, holding her sealed to me, the dress-mirror our silent witness. In its surface I saw myself triumphant, the delicate beauty kneeling before me subjugated, obedient, yet I was also subjugated to her, and I trembled on the spike of her tongue, at once victor and vanquished. I moaned in helpless pleasure, rubbing my crotch against her face. She spread her hands over my buttocks, steadying me, pressing me firmly against her mouth. My skin tingled, my limbs trembled. I was on fire and drowning at the same time. I brought up my hands to squeeze my breasts, molding them like clay, twirling the erect nipples between my fingers. I pressed my legs against Medusina's shoulders, pinning the slim lyre of her body between my thighs. Both of us were trapped in time, in space, and all the known world was a witness...from the furnishings of the room to the marble statues, now striped by moonlight, that stood in silent watch in the garden outside.

I was going to come. My breath quickened in tiny gasps as Medusina sucked and licked. I felt my muscles slacken, tense...slacken, tense...then the pent-up tension burst forward, curling over me like a great wave. Shock after shock of pleasure ran through me. My mouth opened silently as I spasmed. The contractions seemed to come from the earth itself, surging up through the soles of my feet to exit through my head, paralyzing me, freezing me solid...

...as solid as the statues that waited outside.

I opened my eyes. Medusina thrust herself away from me, sobbing against the tiles of the floor. A strange sensation began to suffuse the soles of my feet. Looking in the mirror, I saw the tanned skin of my toes was graying and darkening, like fabric dipped in dye, and changing textureÑto the roughness of granite, dark gray stone speckled with minute flecks of white. I was turning to stone.

Sweet Artemis, no, this wasn't happening to me! I tried to move, but could not; I was frozen in the same awkward position the orgasm had left me. The grayness washed over my feet and lapped around my ankles, then slowly licked up the length of my legs. Above it, my skin felt the cool motion of air, and I registered each anxious breath I took, every heartbeat. But below the grayness, I felt nothing.

There was no pain. No pain at all...only a numbness.

A thin film of sweat broke out on my brow. It was the precursor of worse terror. 

The gray shadow whispered up my calves, transmuting them, making me into a stony goddess such as I had seen in the temples of Athens and Thebes. My feet were already immobile, planted on the tiles of Medusina's bedchamber as if only the most arduous of labors would budge them. I saw my thighs solidify into two mottled columns of stone. I would have screamed if I was able, but I could force only the faintest of whimpers from between my lips. My hard, sculpted flesh would be forever hard now.

The gray numbness cupped my buttocks like a lover, lapping lasciviously between my legs. It then swirled lazily over my hips to my front, the soft flesh there receiving the undulations of stone. With horror I saw it extend a questing tendril towards my loins and enter my body. The sensation shot through me like a second orgasm, equal parts pleasure and pain, as my insides were petrified. It was a full, heavy sensation, rather like pregnancy, but there would be no child.

Tears of fear began to flow from my eyes as the grayness rose up my torso. My breasts became two pears of stone, their soft buoyancy forever fossilized, rendered hard and immobile. The process stilled my lungs, forever silenced my heart. It petrified my nipples, then ran down my arms. My hands became gesturing sculptures, never to lift or sword or caress a lover again. I felt my hair become a solid mass of stone and fuse against my back, and understood at last here would be no escape for me. The process was irreversible. I had braved mighty warriors, sorcerers, lions and other fierce beasts. Now I, Hippolyte the Amazon, had been brought down by a mere girl.

The gray film lapped my chin like the rising tide. *Why did you do this to me?* I wanted to cry. But the dark figure of Medusina only sobbed and said nothing.

The grayness swiftly flowed over my face. My nostrils were plugged, my ears sealed. My mouth was frozen open on the silent scream I gave. Mute and helpless, I felt the numbness reach the top of my skull. The transformation was complete. 

Through a dim, grayish haze I saw Medusina stand. She wiped the tears from her face. She came over to me and extended a trembling hand to cup with her palms the solid globes of my breasts. She touched with her fingertip the tips of the nipples which had given her such delight. She ran her finger around and around the blunt little nubs, as if not believing what she had done. They were still erect, in the midst of arousal. But no coming orgasm would quake and then soften them.

She ran her hands down my belly. I heard the slick sound of her wet palms on the stone. She traced the curly arabesques of hair at the juncture of my thighs, perhaps grieving for the soft fleece that had grown there, and inserted her fingers between my legs. They found no entrance. The stone had sealed me down there, as I knew it had.

She went around to my rear to explore me further, and though I could not feel her, I could tell from her motions in the mirror that she was running her hands over my buttocks. I saw her rest her cheek briefly against the rounded stone, and she might have kissed me there.

Finally she stood and came around to face me. Infinite sadness was in her eyes, and infinite regret. In the old tales the Gorgon is supposed to be die when her face is reflected back at her. But in the mirror now I saw only a sorrowful girl, and the statue of an Amazon caught forever in sexual climax.

"I am sorry for doing this to you," she said. "It is a curse, you see, and one that I regret with every fiber of my being. Whoever loves me, turns to stone. I tried to tell you that, tried to leave you unsatisfied. It is the final spasms of lust, you see, that start the process. But I could not stop in time.

"For years I have lived with this curse. I do not wish to inflict it on others, so I have devised ways of satisfying myself. Usually they work. But every once in a while, the desire for a lover grows so strong I must have satisfaction, no matter what the cost. I try to exercise caution, as you have seen, but..." her eyes darted toward her garden, "I fail often."

I wondered what it was like for her, to live in such isolation, bringing such a cruel fate to the ones she loved.

"I am sorry," she said again. "But you will never age, and never sicken or die. There may be compensation in that." She clapped her hands for her servants. Two men entered with a wheeled cart as if they expected this. My vision turned perpendicular as they grasped me, then placed me on my back in the bed of the cart, grunting because of my increased weight. I realized with awful despair I was yet aliveÑand trapped in the stone. A situation that would likely exist for eternity....or until the rain and moss and scouring wind reduced me to dust. 

They wheeled me out of the bedchamber. My last sight was of Medusina as she stood naked in the darkness, a tragic figure with her head bowed, her hands pressed against her face. 

#

The next day, Medusina had me mounted on a  marble plinth and set me in her garden. Now I knew the origin of the other statues. And I knew that they, too, were alive, and as helpless to communicate with each other as I was. Day after day, night after night, we wait here, our only stimulation the changing seasons of the garden, the play of light and shadow, and the doings of our mistress.

From time to time she entertains a guest in the garden, a wine merchant from the town, perhaps, or a passing dignitary. And every once in a while, I observe the special brightness in her eyes, and the answering response of the other, that tells me the guest will spend the evening in her bed, and perhaps join us in the morning.

I want to cry out and warn them, but my cold, stone tongue cannot.

END


This work is copyrighted 1998 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com). One copy of this story may be made for viewing. This story may not be archived or reposted without my permission. Charging a fee for access to this story, or publishing it without my approval, this preface, or my author credit, violates my copyright as stated on my home page.

