"I don't want to take money from lobbyists."

Melissa was eating the salad that she always ate during late lunch meetings on the bus, the one with the strawberrys and walnuts. The colors were stark against the tired pallor of her face. She chewed with her mouth closed, her jaw firm and eyes staring out at her top advisor.

"I know," Brian said. "I know, and we realize that's important to you. But if we want to take this state, we're not going to do it with the money we're taking in now. We have to expand, ma'am."

Chew, chew. Strawberries and walnuts sent to their death wrapped in lettuce. Melissa's expression didn't change. She merely crossed her legs so her worn pumps poked out from under the small table.

"I don't want to compromise," she said.

Brian swallowed, looking back down at his notes. "We don't really have much of a choice. You're going to have to hit up some big donors. This isn't like Seattle. You can't just play the same strategies. This is how it is."

Melissa stared him down for a few seconds before putting down her plastic fork. She read in a magazine the other day that cutting down on plastic utensils could have a significant environmental impact. Her mind wandered, thinking on whether or not her voters would be put off by fancy salads in plastic containers with plastic utensils. It was a nice, brief distraction from the decision staring her down.

"Who says," she said, "that we can't be the first to do it without playing dirty? Just because it hasn't been done doesn't mean it's impossible."

Brian gave her a look, one that made her insides sour. He'd only finished his internship a few months ago, and his disappointment still made her wither somehow. It had been so easy when she had won the first few primaries, racking up votes. But a gaffe during a debate -- fueled by a lack of sleep and misreading her notes -- had caused her support to tilt, and the quest back upward had been taking a toll. Ironically, for the way restlessness had cost her, she hadn't slept over three hours in weeks.

And now she had to consider the unthinkable.

"Look, ma'am, everyone does it. Think of it this way: putting it off might make you look, uh ... " Brian tapped his chin with the tip of his pen, avoiding his boss's eyes. "It might make people think you're elitist, you know? And that would only make things worse. Think of it like a win-win."

Melissa turned to look at the countryside that rolled by in her bus. Elitist. She got that one sometimes lately. The coastal elite, with her ideas that were too big for the moment and attitude that needed to be stifled. It was like her first Congressional race amped up a hundred or so times.

"I just want to do things right," she said finally, not taking her eyes off the dirt beside the highway. She could hear herself. She sounded defeated, the words barely slipping out of her mouth. "I don't want to give up on my values."

Brian sighed and rubbed his eyes. She got that same feeling in her gut, the strange shame that she had when her male colleagues acted like a beleagured husband. Would that ever stop? If she won, would she be sworn in worrying about whether the man holding the book would think she wasn't acting right? Was it built just into her bones?

"Look," he said, and his exasperated tone stung her, "I know that your values are important to you. I know that better than anyone, ma'am. I've been on this campaign since you entered the race. But how in the world are you gonna win if you don't play the game at least a little?"

She turned to look at him, her mouth slightly agape. "By having the best ideas. The ones that can help people live better lives."

He frowned, fingers white as he clutched his notepad. "It's a nice idea," he said, "but it's not very realistic."

This was her campaign. She'd started it, her name was on the buttons. She had given speeches in arenas filled with thousands of people who professed faith in her goals. And yet, right then, she felt incredibly small under a former intern's rejection.

"Think of it," he said, "as an ends justify the means type of deal. You do a little shady stuff now, and you'll win in the end and make things better for everyone. Doesn't that sound good?"

She hated the sound of his voice, like he wanted to bend down and speak to her like a toddler at the daycare center. She grit her teeth and uncrossed her legs.

She had been doing this for years. That was how she had gotten here, no? The whole reason she'd been able to get anyone to vote for her was because she was capable.

But the sleepless nights and pitying stares were weighing heavy on her soul, the thing that had once felt invincible with the power of that same capability. She had been naive. It was never, ever that easy.

"Okay," she said. "Alright."

Brian smiled finally. It didn't make her feel any better. She just felt like she'd already lost the race.

"Tie back the snakes, please."

"I will not."

My youngest sister was a scourge.

"You know father can't stand to see them writhe," I said, perhaps because the strains on my own hair were paining me, and I didn't want to suffer alone. But mostly, I wanted her to know I was displeased. She always had to do things the way she preferred, and that was usually to our detriment.

"Medusa, you're such a child," Euryale breathed. Her own snakes were secured in a tight, tight bun. "This is why you will always be mortal. I hope you enjoy the finality of death."

"Quiet," Medusa hissed, her hair wild against our orders. "And for your credence, I will not die. You can hold me to that."

This was how it always was when we visited mother and father.

We stood at that same island that we met them at every year, the whirlpool slowly churning wider in the sprawl of the middle sea. They loved to make us wait, to challenge our patience because they could. Exercises of power were all they had now that we were far away from them. There was no question where Medusa got her demeanor, though the same was often said of Euryale and I.

Before long, the daunting form of our parents towered over us, half-submerged in the water as they looked down.

"Stheno," my father bellowed, "why is Medusa's hair like that?"

I scowled. Somehow, Medusa's problems always fell into my lap.

"You should probably ask her," I said, feeling my scalp strain as the rope of my own bun pulled taut.

"I take orders from no one," Medusa said, her arms folded. I could see cracks in her skin, made dry and unpleasant by the salted air. She stared up at our parents, sneering so her fanged teeth stood out. They glowered back, and the usualy stand-off between the three of them commenced.

"We are not here for pleasantries about your fashion," our mother said, her claws glinting in the twilight. "There is an urgent matter here, Medusa. Your death is upon you. The hero Perseus will come for your head."

"Let him," my youngest sister snarled.

"Foolish girl," my father said immediately, and thunder clapped on the horizon. I saw Euryathe twitch in my peripheral vision. "Your opportunities in this world are not infinite as ours. Unless you want to be a trophy for some man, you will evade him."

"I'd kill him first," she said, unfazed.

"Do not be so certain," our mother said. "This man is the son of Zeus. He has been sent by Athena. Powerful hands push him, and you have nothing but us to protect you."

Medusa laughed, loud and throaty, so much so that it nearly echoed off of the waves by its strength.

"Athena!" she cried. "A-the-na!" She sounded the syllables out like a foreign word. "A cow! A petty, deceitful old hag!"

I neglected to mention that our mother had been on this earth longer than the rather young goddess of war.

"Your mouth will not protect you when his sword is at your throat," our father said. He sounded strange, his voice was too quiet. It was as if he was realizing that this was useless.

"We shall see." Medusa stood defiant, her nose up high and barely deigning to give my parents her eyes. "In the meantime, I'd like to go home. If this is all we're here for, that is."

"Do you not value your life?" my mother growled.

"Of course I do," Medusa said. "It is your opinion that I'm not interested in worrying about. Thank you for informing me of what is ahead, but I can handle it just on-"

"Euryale," my father said suddenly. "Stheno." His voice became harsh and cold once more. "Protect your sister at all costs. There is a prize on her head, and it is high."

"Are we not at risk?" I said, speaking before I could think.

More thunder, louder than last time. My stomach churned.

"Your sister is more important, silly girl," he said. "She is the youngest."

"She is a brat."

The waves rose suddenly, splashing onto me hard.

"Be silent and do as you're told."

I had no more to say. I closed my eyes tight, eager to blame the salt if they asked why. Euryathe said nothing. There was no one to defend us but each other. There was no one to protect Medusa but my sister and I.

"Do as we've said," my mother said, and I heard the whirlpool swallow them again. I stood with my eyes closed still for a few moments more, silent.

"You're such an idiot, Stheno," I heard Medusa whisper. For the first time, her voice wavered. I opened my eyes and turned to her. Her shoulders were sagged, and Euryathe was hiding her face in her hands.

"That man is going to kill you," I said, trying to harden my voice. "I'm assuming that you don't want to die."

"I can handle him," she said, turning to face me. "Athena thinks she's so smart, born from the head of that pig. And now her little mortal brother is coming to my head. Hilarious." She scoffed, brushing dirt that wasn't there from her cloak. "Take out your snakes, you two look like matrons."

I'd nearly forgotten. Euryathe and I unleashed our hair, and I sighed as the tightness unwound.

"Athena controls war," Euryathe said. "Would you toy with Ares?"

"I would if he tried to get in my way," Medusa answered, stomping a sandal on the wet dirt of the island. "But that's not the point. Athena is petty. I refuse to let her win."

She touched a snake on her head, and I remembered Athena, who had gained her obsession with my sister after she was attacked in her temple. As if that had been Medusa's fault. My parents had been the same way when we were small, really -- everything came down to us. They never knew the words for apologies, especially not for us.

I stared at my little sister, who had a particularly small snake twirling around her index finger. She looked distracted, her dark eyes looking back at the sea that our parents had come from. The waves were choppy.

"You know," I said quietly, "she is a rotten soul."

She looked at me, the snake continuing to trace around her hand. I saw the smallest twitch on her lips, but nothing more.

"Isn't she?"

We knew we could never protect Medusa, not from the grasp of Zeus and Olympus. And no doubt, by their hand, she would be nothing but a shadow, an obstacle for their demigod hero.

It didn't mean that we couldn't make an effort. For once, I wanted to be different from the things that had led us to that cold, quiet island.