7
The morning sun cast long shadows across the luxurious interior of Medusa's mansion as she stood before her vanity, her reflection a stark contrast to the serene landscape outside. No matter how beautiful she is, the curse Athena put on her and the snakes on her head ruin everything. Bernard, her current servant, stood stiffly with his blindfold, waiting for her instructions.
"Bernard," Medusa began, her voice a low, silken whisper that held a hint of steel. "I require a thorough background check on Aleysia. I want to know everything."
Bernard's brow furrowed. "From birth, Madam?"
Medusa turned from the mirror, her gaze piercing, "I said everything, Bernard."
Nodding quickly, Bernard hurried out of the room. In the outside world, he was a respected and feared figure in the business community, a titan in his own right. However, within this household, he was merely a servant, no different from the long line of Johnsons who had come before him.
Some of the other Johnson family members, who only caught glimpses of the family's enterprises, often wondered why the inner circle was so eager to please this one individual. Even though the Johnson clan's debt to this person dated back centuries, they no longer felt the need to continuously appease the family's benefactor.
What they fail to comprehend is how Medusa carefully selected her servants from within the Johnson family. She never chose someone ambitious, greedy, cocky, or wild. She could sense their hidden desires, their inner turmoil, and she never wanted such individuals near her.
The people she chose, whether male or female, were rarely the smartest or most brilliant of the family. Instead, Medusa sought out those with the biggest hearts, those who were humble, loyal, and dedicated. The rest, she believed, could be moulded, shaped to her liking.
Despite the family's objections, Medusa had chosen Timothy. Because Timothy came from the outer branches of the Johnsons and lacked a proper education, but Medusa saw something in him that the others had overlooked. "You can always make smart people work for you, but an honest man cannot be bought with money," she would often remark.
Since Anthony Johnson, over 150 Johnsons had dedicated their lives to Medusa, their stories chronicled in a private library, a repository of their lives, their thoughts, and their experiences. It was a testament to their devotion, a legacy passed down to each new servant.
Bernard, however, found himself at a loss as he stared at Timothy, the next person who'll be the servant and the head of the family. The library offered no guidance on how to deal with Medusa's heart, especially when it involved another human being. He had never witnessed her show such concern for anyone, not in the romantic way. This was uncharted territory, a puzzle he couldn't solve.
"Do you think this is romantic?" Timothy said while waiting for the result of the background check.
"You don't think? She bathed her, dressed her, fed her, and made me brew tea for that lady, and told you to take her home." Bernard said.
"Oh yes, she's never done that before." Timothy replied, "Is there nothing in the library?"
"I've read everything in the library, but there's nothing." Bernard tried to remember something.
Timothy was chosen by Medusa when he was twenty years old, right after finishing high school. He couldn't go on to higher education because his parents favoured his older brother, preparing him to be involved in the succession game. But Medusa chose Timothy instead.
For the first year, Timothy was taught how to dress, behave, and communicate. The next year, he was instructed on how to talk with Medusa, to remember everything about her, and to learn about her history. He was shown all the pictures from the earliest days of her family and how Medusa had never changed for centuries, if not becoming even more youthful and beautiful.
And in the third year, Timothy finally saw Medusa for the first time. He still remembers how weak his knees were in her presence and how he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge and devotion to serve the woman before him.
"Put him on university, and report back after he's done with his master's degree," is what Medusa said. And Timothy really did spend the next five years studying in the fastest way possible.
Even when many in the family still didn't agree with the choice, some of them couldn't say anything because they saw how capable Timothy was. He proved to be smart, quick-witted, humble, and most of all, meticulously cunning in business. But the most important part was that he was even more loyal to Medusa than Bernard could ever be.
"You found a wife yet, son?" Bernard asks Timothy as they wait in the study.
"Not yet; women these days are horrendous. They're easy to take to bed, but none of them are truly loyal," Timothy said.
"Then find the loyal one; I have the feeling that this time, you'll need to deal with our mistress's spouse, girlfriend, or partner soon." Bernard spoke as his eyes saw the young lady from yesterday walking past their gate and heading towards the fjord once again.
"Oh, she's here again." Timothy's eyes followed the woman's movements.
"Aleysia?" Medusa's voice is suddenly heard from behind them, causing the two men to suddenly freeze and not dare to turn their bodies.
"Yes, madam," Timothy replied, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.
"I'm having my turban now, so you can turn around," Medusa said in a soft voice, prompting Timothy and Bernard to quickly turn and face the majestic Medusa standing before them.
Medusa allowed the two men to bask in her presence before she finally walked to follow Aleysia outside. It was always important to maintain the total devotion of her followers, a lesson she had learnt from Athena herself.
"Bring the yacht out," Medusa said.
"Right away, madam." Bernard answered. Timothy quickly ran towards the back of the house to find the skipper of the yacht.
-
The fjord was a majestic, awe-inspiring sight, its towering cliffs of granite and shale rising on either side like ancient sentinels guarding a secret world. These cliffs' rough surfaces, sculpted over millennia by relentless erosion, revealed a landscape that had undergone unrelenting natural forces to shape it.
The rhythmic motion of the waves, which occasionally broke the deep, inky blue waters below, served as a constant reminder of the primordial power that lay just beneath the surface.
As Aleysia made her way along the fjord's edge, the sound of the waves was a constant, rhythmic companion, their soothing melody a balm to her soul. The sharp, hissing rush as the waves fell back into the depths punctuated the loud, thunderous booms of the water crashing against the cliffs, creating a symphony of sound that was both mesmerising and humbling.
And then, from the distance, came another voice—the beautiful, haunting calls of a whale. It began as a low, rumbling groan, building in intensity until it swelled into a piercing, haunting wail that echoed across the fjord.
Aleysia paused, her breath caught in her throat, as the voices of the whales had such a deep impact on her. The majestic creatures she can no longer see filled the air with a sense of mystery and wonder, their ethereal song a testament to the magic that lay just beneath the surface of this ancient, untamed landscape.
The air was thick with the briny scent of the sea, mingling with the earthy, mossy fragrance of the cliffs. Aleysia felt a sense of humility and connection to the natural world that surrounded her, as if she were a mere speck of dust in the grand symphony of this ancient, untamed landscape.
She decided not to go too close to the shore, as she was still a little bit traumatic from yesterday's event. Not sure where she gets the courage to step into the water when she can't swim and is blind.
Instead, she found a spot on the land and slowly sat down, placing her cane beside her. She closed her eyes and allowed the sounds around her to envelop her, including the crashing waves, the eerie whale calls, and even the distant horn of a ship that was probably travelling to or from the nearby port to collect or transport coal to other distant lands.
As she sat there, Aleysia considered lying down, but the rocky terrain would be uncomfortable for her back. She had tried it before, and the memory of the pain still lingered. So she remained seated, listening intently, half-hoping to hear the melodious voice she had been missing since the previous night—the voice of the woman she knew as Ariadne, the voice that had drawn her back to this place, this majestic, awe-inspiring fjord. Half of the reason she had come was to hear the whales, but the other half was to meet with Ariadne once more, to bask in the warmth of her presence and the beauty of her voice.
Aleysia's heart quickened as she imagined Ariadne's presence, her warm smile, and the gentle touch of her hand. The memory of their brief encounter the previous night was still vivid in her mind, a beacon of light in the darkness of her loneliness.
As time kept passing, minutes by minutes, Aleysia's hope began to dwindle. A growing sense of isolation and despair appeared to replace the sounds of the waves and whales.
Just as she was about to give up and turn back, she heard a sound that made her heart leap. It was a soft, melodic voice calling her name. Aleysia's eyes flew open, her heart pounding with anticipation.
"Aleysia," the voice called again, this time closer.
Aleysia's breath caught in her throat, and she rose to her feet, her cane trembling in her hand. She could feel a warm, familiar presence approaching, and she knew in her heart that this was the moment she had been waiting for. "Ariadne."