[Before going off for a break, I thought I’d offer up that scene – actually the scene I enjoyed writing the most so far. So much drama! Bear in mind, it probably needs a lot of editing.]
She cradled their limp bodies in her arms, rocking back and forth slowly, caressing their soft hair lovingly. Her mouth moved but made no sound – as though in silent prayer. The floor was cold, the flames of the torches were going out, but she wasn’t fazed.
“My children.” She whimpered. A river of tears cascaded down down her face, half-hidden by her flowing red hair which fell upon them like a cloak. Angry scratch-marks on her cheeks bled red and mixed hot tears with hot blood. There was skin under her fingernails. Grief rendered her almost unrecognisable. She seemed to have aged abruptly. “Come back to me. Let it not be true.”
He burst upon the scene, sword drawn in hot anger. As soon as he witnessed the terrible tragedy before him, his knees buckled. Upon seeing him, she seemed to recover immediately from her grief. Her face contorted into an expression of twisted pleasure and pain.
“What’s wrong, Jason? Does it hurt? Does it ache like a dagger in the heart? Have you suddenly remembered where your loyalties lie?”
“What terrible sight is this? What have you done, witch?” he spat, his voice breaking. “What have you done?!”
“This evil is your doing, Jason,” she growled.
“My children! What have you done to them?”
“They were never your children,” she embraced them tightly, like a poor, starving woman hanging onto her last piece of bread, or a dying soul clutching onto a final breath.
“What are you saying, Medea?” He crawled over to her, brandishing his sword, anger carrying him through. “Give me my children, viper! I will bury them with my own hands!”
“Are you going to kill me, Jason?” she hissed like a serpent. “You condemned them, Jason. When you shunned them to consort with that- that-” She could not even say the words, her white-hot fury maimed her. “You did this! This crime will be on your soul, husband, not mine!”
His weapon clattered to the ground.
“This is a dream,” he told himself, shaking his head. “This is just a bad dream. A nightmare. That’s right, it’s not happening.” He pressed his eyes shut, then covered them with his hands.
“Always closing your eyes to everything! To house, to wife, to children. Not seeing it will not make it go away!” One hand tugged at his violently, while the other was still wrapped around the bodies. “Open your eyes and look on them! Look on what you have done! Coward!”
“Your own children! There is no boundary to your wickedness, woman!” he barked back. “When will your revenge end?”
“Oh no, my darling,” the sorceress menaced in a dangerously soft tone. “This is just the beginning. You will die, miserable, tired, and alone, on your precious Argo, like the slimy, lecherous wretch you are!”