Sephy was tired.
She had slept 16 hours, but she was tired. She was always tired, this wasn't new, and maybe, sometimes, it wasn't annoying, but today it was. Today she had to work, she had to get up and do what the company told her to do, be their good little HAZED and kill anything they threw her at.
She got out of bed, pushing her stuffed rabbit to the side. Her stomach turned - too fast, had to slow down. Gotta remember not to go that quickly, throwing up on her bedsheets wasn't a fun way to start her day, and besides, she didn't have the cash to buy new ones again - rent was due.
The notification light on her phone blinked, probably her handler, a medication reminder, and a debt collector, if she had to guess. At least one of those were useful.
She fumbled around, looking for her medbag. The dim light filtered through the blinds didn't help any, but “bright lights” and “I just woke up” didn't mix - best case scenario she get a migraine, worst case scenario, a seizure. She found the autoinjector, pulled up the side of her nightgown, grit her teeth, and jabbed the device into her thigh.
It hurt.
It hurt.
It hurt so much, she wanted to cry.
At least it was better than being sick.
She changed - from the nightgown into her pilot suit, plugging in the neural adapters into the ring of plugs around her neck. The third-generation dive system was supposed to be safer. It was supposed to be easier. But it made her sick - she was the only HAZED that got sick.
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something. about. the horror of being sent on an impossible (death) quest and obligations and hospitality politics. the trauma of not having a home, and then the trauma of being in a house that becomes actively hostile to you, one that would swallow you whole and spit out your bones if you step out of line. all of this is conditional, your existence continues to be something men want gone.
it's about going back as far as I can with the perseus narrative because there's always a version of a myth that exists behind the one that survives. the missing pieces are clearly defined, but the oldest recorded version of it isn't there! and there's probably something older before that!! but it's doomed to forever be an unfilled space, clearly defined by an outline of something that was there and continues to be there in it's absence.
and love. it's also about love. even when you had nothing, you had love.
on the opposite side of the spectrum, this is Not About Ovid Or Roman-Renaissance Reception, Depictions And Discourses On The Perseus Narrative.
edit: to add to the above, while it's not about Ovid, because I'm specifically trying to peel things back to the oldest version of this story, Ovid is fine. alterations on the Perseus myth that give more attention Medusa predate Ovid by several centuries. this comic is also not about those, either! there are many versions of this story from the ancient world. there is not one singular True or Better version, they're all saying something.
Perseus, Daniel Ogden
Anthology of Classical Myth: Primary Sources in Translation, edited & translated by Stephen M Trzaskoma, R. Scott Smith, Stephen Brunet
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thinking about how harrows schizophrenia and general mental state is actually a lot less of a problem compared to the behaviour of everyone else around her that's using her schizophrenia and general mental state as a justification to treat her like shit during HtN.
I mean like yeah sure she's acting vaguely odd and has hallucinations of the body but like she's actually handling that well considering the situation she's in, the far bigger problem is that everyone around her is treating her like shit, hunting her for sport, treating her like she's less worthy of consideration and trying to manipulate her like sure she's not doing great but I'm sure it'd be a lot easier if!!! anyone!!! was treating her like a person!!!!
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