Medousa asks, and Athene would refuse her, if only she could look away from the coral-shaped bruises all along Medousa's thighs, if only she could forget the fear that saturated her shrine still.
She looks upon the girl and sees all the beauty of mortal youth, all the fear of two wrists broken and a braid cut off, all the misguided hope that comes with believing power is salvation.
I do this for you, she says, tangling her hands in the ropes of Medousa's hair, and Medousa leans back into her touch, rapture stealing over her face. Though it will take you from me.
Olive turns to scale and venom bleeds through Athene's fingers.
Thank you, Medousa breathes, collapsing against Athene. Athene holds the woman in the strength of her arms and does not yield.