She sweeps ash and coal toward the door, levels it, hidden and waiting. Anyone who comes for her will walk on coals first.

Then she rebuilds the fire, packs it tight, fans new flame. Let Helios rekindle here. Let this room be unbearable to all who enter, even the walls ignited. Sheep and goats tethered in the corners no longer bleating. Low terrified moans, succumbing to heat, collapsing. Medea douses herself in water, drinks and steams as if appearing suddenly from another world, naked and terrible and ready to destroy all.

She hears them outside, tramp of soldiers and women lamenting, the other daughters of Pelias no doubt, a great crowd on the run, the entire citadel, and smiles. The sisters have done their work.

Pelias enters first, headless. Borne by guards, body hacked and naked and misjointed, pulling apart, ribboned by axes. Blood turned dark already.

Soldiers crushing coals, one of them with feet bare and falling now with a scream against the cauldron, where he sticks momentarily then tears himself away. The cauldron itself unmoved, heavy center to the world, immutable, holding all. Pelias dropped onto ash and coal and stone, guards trying to lift again something too loose to be held, a body that can unfold infinitely.

Acastus at the door, thin boy, no king, holding his father’s head high for her to see. Dipped in blood, hair wet and dark. Mouth loose, cave hole without sound. Eyes alive still, almost, large and whited and gazing somewhere beyond her. Head of her father, head of Helios, head of every king and king to be, but her brother’s head was not the same. If she could go back, it would be her father’s head this time.

Medea, Acastus says. His voice is fear, thin and swallowed.

Where are the waves? Medea asks. The great flood returned. The son of Poseidon slain. We should all run for higher ground.

My father, Acastus says. Bring him back to life.

Medea laughs. So that my slavery can be endless? Shall I make him immortal? Perhaps I can fuse a whip to each hand, or give him claws to tear at my back. Or the tail of a scorpion. Do you remember the scorpion?

Acastus squinting away from the fire, too bright and hot, his father’s head no longer held high but sagged against his leg, heavy. His soldiers backing against the walls, body abandoned in ash.

Bring him to the sea, Medea tells him. Let Poseidon make him whole.

Acastus steps outside and returns with Asteropeia and Peisidike, each held by a guard. They are naked and spattered in blood. Medea would have all vanish and only Asteropeia remain. Sea nymph. If all women have been only one woman, if Medea’s mother and grandmother were the same and descended from another woman also the same, the Titaness Tethys, then Asteropeia is the ideal form all would return to. Medea herself would take this form.