I used to turn heads, when I was younger. Sometimes I even stopped traffic. Every building site I passed would elicit a course chorus of wolf-whistles and catcalls.
Now I have a different power, to turn.
I used to be always out in the sun, loved the feeling of its warm rays on my bare shoulders. There was always something bare back then: I would seize every opportunity to optimise the view: my taught, ripe, naked flesh; my juicy thighs; my navel. Only the most private parts kept hidden.
Now I shun the sunlight; I prefer my cave, in isolation. I wrap up my twisted, ancient flesh against the cold; I shield myself. I no longer seek out the attention of rogue males. I wait for them to come to me…just lie in wait.
I used to have the hair of a Goddess: long, flowing, flaxen, undulating waves. I wore it long and loose all down my back, it rested just above my firm, full buttocks.
Now my hair seethes with a different life: come, see it if you dare. Hear it hissing as you approach: don’t draw back in fear.
Eventually, I fell in love, and so began the end of all my youth and beauty. A youth, as beautiful as I, took my love, and my beauty drained away with time. And then he said, ‘I’m leaving you.’ My only crime? ‘You’ve changed’ he said (he meant ‘grown older’).
He left, and then my heart grew cold as stone.
And from my stone cold heart a prayer issued forth to the Goddess of the ancient Earth: ‘My youth and beauty have been taken from me, and I must have my revenge.’
The Goddess replied:
‘I’ll grant you immortality, and turn you into creature hideous to look upon.’
‘So what’s in it for me?’ I asked.
‘The power to turn men to stone.’ She said.
I gratefully accepted.
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