You can hear it on the wind sometimes, her sobbing laughter. As her ghostlike arms clutched another innocent to her chest with desperation, such sadness, needless pain.
If you saw her, you might think she was the monster. Her hair a snarled mess, eyes hard as granite. Her once beautiful body, coveted by gods, punished for the same reason.
She held her victims in a thrall, striking and deadly. Hunted for what she had become, what they had made her. Until one day she was struck down.
In modern times you can still see her spirit in the rage of every innocent who has suffered at the hands and minds of the true monsters in the world.
You saw it in how they continued to fight no matter how many times they were pushed down. Told they didn’t matter. In each of them her spirit survived and pushed them to thrive.
Each one shows that she was not a monster, but rather a protector of those who suffered, suffered in their minds, at the hands of others. Suffered for their rights, beliefs, and growth. In them her memory lived on. Reckless and fierce.