THE GORGON & THE GLASS SLIPPER
Medusa was late. It was not in her nature to be late. It was not allowed. She feared tardiness, bustle, and hurry. Her sisters, her familial captors, would torment her so if she was late. They dealt out punishment the way witches passed out candy to little children.
With wickedness and delight.
She quickly set about slicing bread, setting the pieces over the fire to toast. She cracked eggs and stirred maniacally. She grated fine cheeses and chopped vegetables. She set bacon to sizzle on the iron.
The ingredients were gifts – tributes from nearby communities – ferried across the river by Charon in exchange for the sisters sparing the lives of the villagers.
It kept the larders stocked, but it did not stop the eldest of the sisters from taking her pick of the population every now and again. Tributes or no tributes, Stheno took what she wanted and did as she pleased.
There was a hierarchy between the sisters, and Stheno rested comfortably atop of it.
It was Medusa’s job to clean the vegetables, churn the butter, and butcher the meat. It was her job to sweep the floors and beat the rugs. To draw the baths, stoke the fires and prune the trees. She took care of the chores. The house, her sisters. Everyone and everything excluding herself.
The other two benefitted. This was the order of things.
With only seconds to spare, she managed to get the last plate on the table before her sisters arrived, groggy, cantankerous and flatulent.
Another near miss.