The garden is more peaceful than you expected, with gravel paths lined with brightly colored flowers. Hummingbirds and butterflies dance among the blossoms. A narrow creek burbles, passing in and out of dappled sunlight. Squirrels leap from tree to tree and chase each other around the statues.

You pause to watch, and when you return to the trail, she’s there, watching you. A doubt you never admit to feeling crawls across your spine, but it’s too late.

Her deep brown eyes gaze into yours, and your face loses all sensation.

You can’t scream,
or cry,
or sing.
You can’t even laugh.
You remember laughing, don’t you?

Her eyes are sad and lonely. They see you. They understand you. Numbness paralyzes your limbs.

You can’t move,
or jump,
or run.
You can’t even dance.
But then, dancing wasn’t ever your thing, was it?

Gaze still locked with yours, she looks like she’s about to cry. Petrification creeks through your body, turning flesh to stone.

You are immune to the outside world.
Insults no longer touch you,
or disappointment,
or grief.
They never have, have they?
You’ve always been the strong one.

Now, you’re stronger still.
Unbreakable.
Unshakeable.
A person of stone can weather any storm, carry any burden.
Reliable.
Dependable.
What else could you want?

She blinks away a tear and, in that moment, panic flares.

Emotions you’ve long forgotten splash against stone in a desperate plea for release.
Longing,
Regret,
Love.
It’s too late.
You are a statue.

Medusa gives you a smile that is both sad and understanding.

You wonder. If you hadn’t spent a lifetime hardening your skin, would you have become something else? Could you, maybe, have turned into a butterfly? Or a flower?