You may be familiar with the story of the Minotaur:

how the king’s wife was bewitched, consorted with a bull;

and birthed a monster with the head and strength of a bull and body of a man.

Imprisoned beneath Crete in an inescapable Labyrinth, this beast subsisted on a tribute of 14 Athenian virgins, delivered at 7 year intervals.

One of these intended morsels was my mother.

By dint of a clever piece of negotiation with Aphrodite, she was able to charm and seduce the ravening creature. Initially hoping merely to side-step a grisly demise, she was pleasantly surprised by the fearsome Minotaur’s softer side.

Having resided so long on his own within the damp confines of his earthen oubliette, the Minotaur had developed an introspective, poetic soul.

Unable to climb out and escape due to his ungainly hooves, he had nevertheless made use of his enormous horns to chip away at the ceiling and create skylights, through which faint sunlight and rain penetrated in sufficient quantities to nourish a series of subterranean gardens.

Over the years he had also had ample time to penetrate the mineral wealth of his lair- gold and precious stones galore festooned his living quarters in the innermost catacombs.

I spent my earliest years underground.

 
It took my parents quite some time to assemble enough sacrificial virgins to organize the bones into a trail long enough to crack the maze and guide them to the exit. I was 13 when I emerged and breathed the open air of Crete. 

I take after my mother for the most part,

with only my horns, multi-teated nipples;

tail and slightly cloven feet to give the game away.

Sometimes the brightness of the sun dazzles my eyes. I’m most comfortable in dimly lit rooms and after the sun has set. The deep green and purple of the horizon line as night is pulled down over the land fills me with ease. On the morning of May Day, I donned my white shift and began the walk to the festivities so early, the dew soaked my hem.

I long to find a mate capable of keeping me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed. If I were ever to marry it could only be to someone with a green enough thumb to tend to me...

...tend to me like the child of the soil that I am.

This month's Taurus New Moon Story created by:

Words: Geneva Entwistle, no socials

Model: Melissa Oskouie, @oskouseme

MUA/ Stylist: Derya Derman, @derya_was_here

Astrological consultant:  Gillian Masland, @softgeode

Photographer & producer: Suzy Mae, @suzy_mae

Please credit @neonaltar & above if reposting 🙏🏻