THE GORGON'S VENGEANCE

THE GORGON’S VENGEANCE

by AMIENE REV

“They called me Monster. They were right. But monsters remember. And monsters plan.”

D E D I C A T I O N

To every woman who was punished for doing right. To everyone who stayed loyal and was betrayed. To those still waiting for justice.

This story is yours.

P R O L O G U E

Three hundred years ago, I was a priestess.

I served Athena with everything I had — my devotion, my faith, my entire life. I believed the goddess would protect me. I believed loyalty meant something. I believed the divine rewarded the faithful.

I was wrong about all of it.

When Poseidon came to me in the temple, I refused him. For her. For Athena. For the goddess I loved more than my own life.

“I belong to your niece,” I told him. “I will not betray her.”

He left angry. Humiliated. A god rejected by a mortal.

I thought I had done right.

I thought Athena would be proud.

Instead, she looked at me with those silver eyes burning with something I didn’t understand then. Something I understand now.

Jealousy.

Poseidon wanted me. Not her. A mortal priestess, chosen over a goddess. That was unforgivable.

Not my betrayal — I had none.

My beauty. My desirability. My existence.

She called me vain. Called me temptress. Looked at me like I had chosen to be wanted, like I had asked for a god’s attention.

And then she gave me the curse.

The snakes came first. Then the scales. Then the stone gaze that turned everyone who met my eyes into statues.

She took my name — Alcinoe — and gave me a new one.

Medusa.

The monster.

Poseidon watched it happen. Did nothing. Said nothing.

“If I cannot have her,” I heard him whisper, “let no one look upon her.”

Two gods destroyed me that night.

One out of jealousy.

One out of wounded pride.

Neither out of justice.

For three hundred years, I have been hunted. Heroes come seeking glory. Gods send champions to claim my head. The world has forgotten the priestess and remembers only the monster.

But I remember.

I remember every prayer I offered. Every sunrise I devoted to her. Every moment I chose faith over doubt.

And I remember the goddess who repaid loyalty with cruelty.

Three hundred years is a long time to plan.

Three hundred years is a long time to sharpen your fangs.

Athena thinks I am her creation. Her punishment. Her warning to other women who might dare to be beautiful in her presence.

She is wrong.

I am not her creation.

I am her reckoning.

My name is Alcinoe.

And I am done waiting.