GREECE-ATHENS
"Woah," Medusa breathed, wonder lighting up her eyes as she gazed at the city walls, adorned with shimmering lights.
"It never ceases to amaze me, no matter how many times I see it," Stheno murmured, the glow reflecting in her eyes like scattered stars.
The Olympics had been declared, and preparations filled the streets with life. Athens, the heart of Greece, stood at its grandest, a city at the peak of its glory.
""Now remember, people, we're here for flowers and spice—nothing more," Euryale reminded the crew as they stepped down from the cart.
"I think you should be more precise about whom you're referring to, sister," Medusa quipped, adjusting her scarf over her hair.
Euryale chuckled, then playfully took Medusa's ears between her fingers, turning her face toward her. "Medusa," she drawled sarcastically, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Remember what we are here for."
Laughter rippled through them, even Ceto, their mother was unable to suppress her smile.
It was nothing new to them—wherever Medusa went, eyes followed, whispers trailed, and crowds seemed to shift in her wake. Men of status, wealth, and power made their attempts, their words laced with admiration, their gestures bold with intent. Yet, as always, she paid them no mind, her gaze set upon her path, unyielding as the tide.
The city buzzed with life, each person tending to their affairs—trading, buying, bartering—voices rising in a symphony of commerce. Amidst the bustle, the three sisters walked in step with their mother, two escorts trailing behind. Wherever they passed, heads turned, gazes lingered, and the hum of the marketplace seemed to hush in their presence, if only for a moment, as they sought out the items for which they had come.
Medusa paused before a stall gleaming with jewels, her eyes alight with admiration. Turning to the others, she fixed her mother with a pleading look, her lips curved in a charming pout.
"Flowers and spice," Ceto reminded her gently, but Medusa held her gaze, undeterred.
"Please, Mother, as swift as the wind—we shall not linger," she implored, her voice sweet with persuasion.
Ceto sighed, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Thou art already as radiant as the dawn, my child. If thou dost adorn thyself further, the princess of Greece may well weep at her misfortune," she teased. "And what of the grand prize of the Olympics? Must even the victor bow before thy beauty?"
But Medusa, stubborn as ever, paid her no heed, already reaching toward the delicate gems that sparkled like stardust in the afternoon sun.
Soon, her sisters joined in the playful charade, their pleas blending into laughter and mischief. Before long, they found themselves inside the shop, adorned in jewels, their reflections shimmering in the polished bronze mirrors.
The price was of no concern—they had gold enough to claim the finest of treasures. Yet, unbeknownst to them, the true price was not in coin but in the weight of curious gazes. Whispers spread like wildfire, and eyes turned their way, drawn to the radiance of three sisters who shone brighter than the jewels they adorned.
The family of Duke Phorcys had never before attended the Olympics during previous games. The duke, wise and cautious, had seen fit to avoid the speculations, whispered talks, and the ever-complicating situations that often arose around his daughters—Medusa most of all.