Medea was sitting and reading a clay tablet on a window seat in the corridor of the palace when Eros arrived in the early morning. She did not see him, for the god of desire was invisible. He stood there, his quiverful of arrows over his shoulder and his silver bow strung and ready. “What a beautiful young woman,” he thought to himself. “No wonder mother is annoyed that she has remained single all her life. Lucky Jason.” He turned his head toward the entrance to the palace’s guest wing and blew. Jason woke suddenly in his bed. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Strange dream. Eros had whispered in
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