Greek Princess Andromeda

You’ve probably heard my name. Maybe you’ve looked up on a clear night and seen a lovely, glittery smudge they call the Andromeda Galaxy. You might have even sat through a particularly dramatic lecture on Greek Mythology. You think you know my story, right? Pretty girl, annoying mom, sea monster, dashing hero, happily ever after. The end.
You’ve been fed the PR-friendly version. The edited-for-television version. The version that makes everyone else look good.
Well, I’ve had a few thousand years to stew about it, and frankly it’s time someone set the record straight. Someone who was actually there, chained to the rock, feeling the sea spray and wondering if her mother’s vanity was going to be the literal death of her so let me tell you what really happened.
First, let’s talk about my mother, Queen Cassiopeia. Oh, you’ve heard of her. The one in the chair, looking fabulous. Well, let me tell you, she hasn’t changed a bit. Up here in the stars, she spends most of her time preening but down on Earth, she was a nightmare.
Declaring she was more beautiful than the Nereids who were Poseidon’s personal posse of sea-nymphs is like walking into a biker bar, announcing you have a better motorcycle than the club president, and then being surprised when things get messy.
My dad, King Cepheus, was… well, he was there. A sweet man who spent most of his time nodding along to whatever my mother said. His big solution to the problem of an enraged sea god was sacrifice the daughter so that’s how I found myself on a very windswept, very uncomfortable rock by the sea with chains chaffing my wrists.
Then came the monster, Cetus. Sure, he was large, and he had way too many teeth, and his breath smelled like a fish market but he had a brain the size of a walnut.
Just as I was resigning myself to becoming dinner, there was Perseus showing up on this winged horse all fresh from beheading Medusa. He had the Gorgon’s head in a special bag, a shiny reflective shield, and a look that said, 'Yeah, I know. I’m awesome'.
There was no grand declaration of love. No poetic sonnet. He looked at me, looked at the monster, and did the math. A damsel in distress is a great look for a hero. He basically pulled out Medusa’s head, waved it at Cetus and poof. Monster statue. Problem solved.
He flew down, unchained me, and my father, who suddenly remembered he had a daughter, was all, 'Oh, thank you, mighty hero! Please, marry her! Take her! Just don’t let the sea god flood the place again!'
So, I married him. He slayed a monster, I got a husband and a ticket out of my parents’ kingdom. Seemed like a fair trade at the time. He was a decent guy, for a right show-off with a history of turning people to stone. Our wedding was… eventful. We had to fight off my ex-fiancé and his whole army, which was a whole other level of family drama I won't get into.
And now, here I am. A constellation for being the eternal damsel in distress. The girl who needed saving but being a constellation has its perks. I’ve seen empires rise and fall. I’ve watched you invent the wheel, the printing press, and then the internet, which is basically just a digital version of Mount Olympus, full of gods, monsters, and endless, petty arguments. It’s all terribly familiar.