Did he remember? Or was Medea the only one time had played cruel tricks on?
Golden hair. Golden ornaments. Jason was ever the dazzling (vapid) man she remembered. Still the ocean winds caught his hair, still the horizon tugged his smiles away from her. It was strange. Being summoned, as a near-child. The anger she'd felt throughout her life had dissolved. Perhaps the neural pathways had not been built yet, in this unbloodied body. Her brain had not yet learned its lessons. There was no rush of adrenaline or pumping heart. She considered things her wiser self discarded. Jason's hands. His smile. The narrowness of his hips and the wideness of his shoulders.
Had Aphrodite kissed her yet, in her new shell? It brought a haze around Jason, that made the world soft and lovely. His smell (sweat and crushed flowers), his appearance (garish), his sound (a poorly made bell, that struck dissonant in its songs, yet pleasing to her chemical-sick ears). This Medea's biology had not begun to associate these traits with disgust and betrayal.
Internally her heart was burning. This was a waking dream. She looked into Jason's callous dead eyes. He smiled. She remembered how he still looked the same, smelled the same, when she murdered their children.
Medea smiled back.