Medusa

Medusa’s ragged wings stretched, their sticking cobwebs made pendulous with her slow, deliberate movements. Upon nightfall’s amour her eyes took in the moonbeams and made her vision seem to glow, hollow spectre eyes that shimmered opaline and clear. The rest of her small body bathed in darkness deeper than any light could hope to pierce.

She wisped upon the stormfields with a lingering wait to watch the lightning strike, illuminated by the phenomenon which saw her lit angelic among the debris of stone uplifted by staggering winds. Medusa spread her wings and took to the skies to be among the tempest of electricity. A nymph of cloud and thunder, of which her clan knew not of her existence, until she chose to descend, body carrying the lightning’s remnant spark rippling across her body in charred crackles.

To them, her clan, she was the unknown. And to be unknown is to be feared, to be considered potentially malignant, a slithering creature too small to inflict any intimidation, but nefarious, like the dangling spider, or the hidden snake. A fanged, lurking creature, beyond any particular understanding.

But Medusa feared not. She took to the rumour and allowed for their existence alongside her true knowledge. She did no harm, she offered no malice, simply disinterested in dispelling such word about her. In a strange manner she found herself grateful. Those frightened by mere rumour perhaps were not destined to keep her illusive company, regardless. She perched upon the craggy stone and listened instead in quiet glee at the conversation the remainder of her clan could offer, used to her shadowy presence. Of what little she knew of family, she thought, this clan of hers could be the closest to her understanding.

To which Medusa thought, she rather liked them.

Bio by @PunchingSolas