The tea Maye found herself serving was not something she believed she’d ever heard of, let alone had in the pantry, she didn’t want to dwell on how it got there. Medea was sitting in one of the armchairs, the TV was now switched off, and a bouquet of flowers was perched neatly in a vase on the coffee table. Maye set the tray of tea down and knelt to pour it, testing the strength; it was just as well that she knew how to serve tea.
“When you say you are ‘Medea’, am I to understand that you are the Medea? Of the Fleece tale?” Maye asked after they had both taken several sips of tea.
“If you like. I’m not really here to discuss me. You have to stop what you are doing.”
“And what exactly am I doing?” Maye asked.
“Did you know that the last time a Dreamerless Ritual was completed, the transition ripped every individual in the Coven to shreds. They’d managed to bring one of the Furies across, that was fun!”
Maye stared at her.
“The stories about you are true, aren’t they?” she demanded.
“Most of them.”
“I intend to go through with it, my family has worked for generations to bridge the worlds.”
Medea’s dark eyes flashed, somewhere in the house something smashed to the ground.
“The Rift exists for a reason, girl.”
“The Gods – ”
“Are not at your beck and call,” the older woman replied, “they’ve sent me to bring an end to this.”
Maye’s eyes narrowed.
“I am not afraid of you, this has been my dream since I was a child, and my parents’ dream before me. I will not stop.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Medea murmured, smoothing her ruby skirts over her legs, “actually... I’m not.”
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