My name is Grendel's mother.

Yes, THAT mother.

The one everyone calls a monster.

Let me tell you the real story.

My son Grendel was different.

He was big and strong, but he was also sad.

Every night, loud music came from the king's hall.

People laughed and sang until very late.

Grendel could not sleep.

The noise hurt his ears.

"Mom, make them stop,"

he said to me every day.

I tried to help my boy.

I really did.

But Grendel went to the hall at night.

He was angry and tired.

Bad things happened.

Then Beowulf came.

He was a strong warrior from far away.

Everyone said he was a hero.

But he killed my son.

My only child.

I was so sad.

I was so angry.

A mother's heart breaks when her child dies.

I went to get revenge.

I took one of the king's men.

"Now you know how it feels,"

I thought.

Beowulf came to fight me too.

He came to my home under the water.

We fought hard.

He won.

He killed me too.

But before I died, I saw something in his eyes.

He was sad too.

He did not want to kill.

He just wanted to protect his people.

Maybe we were not so different.

Maybe we both just wanted to keep our families safe.

Now I am gone.

Grendel is gone.

But I want people to remember: every monster has a story.

Every monster was someone's child.