Work Text:
Medea is not usually the kind of woman people make an effort to get to know.
There have been those who tried to gain her favor, true. Out of fear, not genuine interest; for after all, she is also not the kind of woman who takes kindly to any slight, no matter how small. Even Great Hecate, though cordial enough and certainly unafraid, has never been anything but coldly professional in their interactions. There is fellow-feeling among those who follow the craft, of course, but no one seems to follow the craft in quite the same way as Medea.
The little sorceress is different.
Medea had never had occasion to meet with her before she had come to Ephyra, though she had heard tell of the little godling under Great Hecate’s care, raised with the sole purpose of defeating the Titan. Medea well understands having a sole purpose, and she has not yet had cause to doubt the girl’s conviction, though her tendency toward kindness ought to be stifled lest it become a weakness.
It is impossible to cut out such things the way one would a canker. Medea herself is not free of weakness, but she has become adept at quelling it within herself, using the strength of her convictions to drown out any impulse that does not serve her. It is not an easy thing to teach; she is not even sure how she would begin.
But oh, if she could draw all the blood from the girl’s body and infuse it with some herb yet undiscovered, would it change her upon its return, as it would a mortal, or would her chthonic nature render it inert? She has never left enough of it behind, though she returns to shadow often enough that perhaps with a bit more time - something there is no shortage of - she can be convinced to take a more… active role in Medea’s experiments.
Smiling to herself, Medea stirs three drops of Melinoë’s blood into her cauldron, then three of her own, and bottles it up to test on the next wretch who darkens her door. Weakness or not, the girl’s blood is powerful, and she has not nearly finished cataloguing its effects.