The Victory of Medusa: Correcting the Record
Legend carries falsehoods of my death. Lore was written by the gods, and therefore was written by alcohol-soaked ink and sex-crazed confusion.
Legend carries falsehoods of my death. Lore was written by the gods, and therefore was written by alcohol-soaked ink and sex-crazed confusion.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?