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Medea had spent the better part of two days in her room since that damned group meeting. The exercise seemed simple enough, to pick a person from your past, the one who seemed to be at the center of your demons and tragedy, and write them a letter. Seemed simple enough, yeah right

The princess of Colchis had been sitting at her desk for so long that she couldn't remember when she'd started to lose the feeling in her legs, it was probably around the same time she'd broken the third pen. The easiest part of this whole thing had been picking the subject of her letter, there were others it could have been addressed to of course, her father, Aphrodite, that damned Euripides.

But no, it had- it had to be Jason, her prince, her husband, the father of her...children...

And that's why this was so much harder than it seemed, even if the letter would never be sent, if you would never see that person again (hopefully), having to open up that box you'd locked all those memories away in, having to look back and pick apart your life. The pain was indescribable.

In the end there was no one letter, the surface of her desk was littered with sheets of paper, each one scrawled with various amounts hastily written words, some of them were nostalgic,

I miss you kissing my eyelids,

And tracing my back with your fingertips.

I miss how your body would unconsciously look for warmth in mine when you slept.

I miss the way you stopped the hurtful words that were about to come out of your mouth by clenching your teeth.

I miss your touch, even only a slap on the cheek.

The way you yelled at me, I miss every bit of it.

Some of them were full of crossed out lines,

You were sweet. Too sweet. I loved you then, but I am sorry for what I did.

Some of them were what she thought letters like this were supposed to look like, what she thought a professional would like to see her writing, something mature and well worded. Forgetting and forgiving,

But you deserved every scar and bruise you left on my body.

So with the same mouth and hands, I pray for our sins.

May your heart and soul rest in peace.

And may the gods forgive us

For what we did.

The last page she'd written before dropping her pen, taking a deep breath, shakily rising to her feet and finally leaving her room, sat on the top of the mess, center stage and almost calmly, like the eye of the storm. It was the most genuine of the words Medea had written to Jason. When she left the room she enchanted all of her papers to burn up and disappear, so she wouldn't have to look at them when she came back to go to bed. The letter had been written, that's what mattered, no one would ever see what she'd admitted,

I may think of you softly from time to time

but I'll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again

goodbye