They leave her for the food, forcing too much into their mouths, greed of children. Every child born in the nature of a king, believing itself at the center, taking all, brutal and thoughtless. Stew dripping from their mouths, loud smack of meat. Always in movement. Twisting in their chairs, heads swinging, hands grabbing and grabbing. No stillness possible. But by some cruel trick she would sacrifice all for them, would stay here in Korinth and try to forget betrayal, would live as an outcast and become nothing.

Medea forces herself to eat. Flesh of bread and lamb the same. She drinks wine to drown the taste and keeps drinking, feels her head lighten and spin and the back of her neck become so heavy she lies down, listens to the music that begins late, another feast, Jason falling into those eyes and breasts as his sons sleep. Does he think of them? Does he think of Medea? Is there anything inside him at all, or only empty space moving under momentum begun long ago, men as fate? What is Jason? What could be called Jason? How could she spend this many years with him and not know? All she knows is Medea. All others, even her sons, are voids.

Held back from the sea. She would walk to the edge and immerse, true temple of Hekate, sink down in darkness and try to understand what to do now, but the sea is farther away than before, and she’s not allowed to walk in the night. Guards waiting outside her door. Another king who thinks she can be bound.

Medea doesn’t sleep. Longest of nights, listening for any sound of Glauce and Jason, feeling the spin of wine slow and fade, leaving a terrible clarity. The air coldest just before Helios appears, thin light of an unforgiving day, still no husband returning, and so he is never going to return.

Early morning, waiting for the air to warm and bodies to rise. Finally Aeson and Promachus are stretching and pushing then famished and the slaves bring in food again, endless food. The sounds of Korinth restart and Medea still waits.

A messenger. Jason too cowardly to come himself. A man in her door chewing something, between smacking and swallows telling her that Jason is to marry Glauce.

But Jason is my husband, she says.

He keeps chewing, turns and walks out.

Medea is unable to move. She only stands in place before the empty door. So soon? she asks. But she’s speaking to no one. Her sons behind her eating, unbothered.

All in Korinth have decided Medea is nothing.