Chapter 102: Beatrice's Metamorphosis XV

Once it was over, people started talking to one another. But they kept most of their opinions to themselves, there is still one more play to watch.

"It really is something else, watching these acting groups," Kenneth whistled.

"There's another one, don't get distracted now," Gabriel reminded him.

"Obviously I won't. That is the main play we are watching, how can I be distracted?"

They went for lunch, ensuring not to bump into Beatrice before returning for the afternoon show.

Echelon Dominion will be performing Medea by Euripides.

The play begins in Corinth, outside Medea's home. The air is thick with tension. The nurse, an old and loyal servant, paces anxiously, her face lined with worry.

"Oh, how I wish the Argo had never sailed to Colchis! That ship, that cursed ship, brought Jason to Medea, and now—now, she is lost."

Inside the house, Medea wails, her cries sharp and raw, like a wounded animal. She has locked herself away, refusing food, sleep, or comfort.

The betrayal is unbearable.

Jason, the man she sacrificed everything for, has abandoned her. He has left her for Glauce, the young daughter of King Creon.

A new wife.

A new life.

The nurse lowers her voice as she speaks to the audience.

"She is dangerous when wronged. She is cunning, fierce, and powerful. Jason is a fool if he believes she will remain silent."

Suddenly, a tutor rushes in, breathless.

"The worst has come," he whispers.

"Creon approaches. He brings an order of exile."

Medea's cries stop. Silence falls. Then, the door creaks open, and Medea steps into the light. Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with an eerie calm.

…

Creon stands before her, his posture stiff with unease. He is a king, but he knows he is speaking to a woman unlike any other.

"Medea," he says.

"I banish you. You are to leave Corinth immediately. Your presence is a danger to my house, to my daughter, and to this city."

Medea lowers her head, her voice trembling with forced humility.

"Have I wronged you, my king? Have I raised a hand against your daughter?"

Creon narrows his eyes.

"Not yet. But I know the depths of your mind, the sharpness of your heart. I cannot risk it."

Medea steps forward, her expression desperate.

"One day," she pleads.

"Only one day to gather myself, to make arrangements for my children. Let me leave with dignity."

Creon hesitates. She looks so pitiful, so broken. And surely, what harm can she do in one day?

"One day," he agrees.

"But no more."

As he leaves, Medea's body relaxes. The act is over. Her face hardens, her voice drops to a whisper.

"Foolish man. A day is all I need."

…

Jason arrives soon after, his expression one of weary frustration. He is dressed in fine robes now, wealth and security hanging on his shoulders. He looks at Medea with pity, not regret.

"You are too proud," he says.

"This could have been avoided if you had accepted reality."

Medea's lips curl into a bitter smile.

"Reality?" she echoes.

"Let me remind you of reality, Jason. You came to my land, a stranger, begging for my help. I betrayed my father for you. I killed for you. I bore your children, left my home, my blood, my gods… for you."

Jason sighs.

"I have done what is best for us all. My marriage to Glauce secures a future for our sons. You should be grateful."

Medea laughs, a hollow sound.

"Grateful? That you toss me aside like a worn-out cloak? That you marry a child and expect me to bow like a loyal dog? No, Jason. You do not understand the woman you have scorned."

Jason shakes his head.

"You will see reason one day. But it will be too late."

He turns and leaves. Medea watches him go, her fingers curling into fists.

"Yes," she murmurs.

"Too late indeed."

…

Aegeus, the King of Athens, visits Corinth. He is a friend of Medea, and he comes with troubles of his own, he is unable to father children. Medea seizes the opportunity.

"I can help you, Aegeus. I have knowledge of herbs, of spells, of the gods' will. But in return, swear to me, swear that when I am cast from this place, you will grant me refuge."

Aegeus hesitates, then nods.

"By the gods, I swear it."

Medea smiles, relief flashing across her face. Now, she has a way out. But first, revenge.

…

Medea prepares a robe and crown, laced with a deadly poison. She summons Jason. Her voice is soft, her demeanor sorrowful.

"I have been a fool," she says.

"My anger blinded me. Let me give your bride a gift, a token of peace."

Jason, believing her submission, accepts the offering and leaves. The moment he is gone, Medea's smile vanishes.

"And now, we wait."

Hours later, a messenger stumbles in, gasping.

"The princess… she is dead."

Medea listens, her expression unreadable. The messenger describes how Glauce had put on the robe, how the poison burned through her flesh, how she screamed and writhed until she collapsed. Creon, in his grief, had tried to save her, only to perish as well.

Medea closes her eyes.

"And Jason?" she asks.

"He held her as she burned. He wept over her body, calling her name, but it was too late."

Medea grips the edge of the table. A flicker of hesitation, of doubt, crosses her face. But she steels herself.

"There is still one last thing to do."

Medea kneels beside her children, shaking from head to toe.

Her hair is messy, her face wet with tears. She clutches their small hands, her whole body trembling. The dagger wobbles in her grip, her breathing rough and uneven.

"No, no, no. Why must it be me?"

Her voice is raw, filled with pain. She lifts her head toward the sky, eyes wide and desperate. She presses her hands against her chest as if trying to stop her heart from breaking.

"I gave you life. I fed you. I held you when you cried. And now... now I must..."

She cannot finish.

She gasps for air, almost dropping the dagger.

She shakes her head again and again, trying to push away her last bit of doubt.

"It is better this way. Better by my hand than his. Better now than later when you will suffer more."

Her breathing turns frantic. She grips the dagger so hard her knuckles turn white. But she cannot do it yet.

She lets out a long, broken scream. Her body shakes violently as she fights against her own mind.

Then, suddenly, she moves.

The dagger falls.

Her children cry out.

Medea lets out a deep, painful wail as she covers her ears, as if she cannot stand the sound. When it is over, she collapses over them. Her arms wrap around their still bodies as if trying to bring them back.

Silence.

She stays frozen, shaking, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps. Then, a loud sob rips from her throat.

She clutches her own hair, pulling at it, rocking back and forth.

"Jason... Jason... look what you made me do."

A heartbeat later, Jason bursts in. His face is wild with horror.

"Where are they?" he demands.

Medea steps forward, her dress stained with blood.

"Gone," she whispers.

Jason stares at her, his chest heaving.

"You… you monster."

Medea lifts her chin.

"No, Jason. I am what you made me."

Suddenly, a golden chariot, drawn by winged dragons, descends from the heavens. Medea steps onto it, gripping the reins. Jason falls to his knees, his voice raw.

"Medea! Curse you!"

Medea looks down at him, a slow, cruel smile forming.

"You are already cursed."

The chariot rises. The torches flicker wildly. Jason is left alone, weeping in the darkness.

The stage is silent. Then, the sound of a single sob from the audience.

The play has ended.

It was the same as this morning, silence came but soon after was the thunderous applauds of everyone who watched.