medusa · greek mythology · petrifying gaze · cursed · lonely · snake hair · ancient magic · redemption · mysterious · supernatural
Dust motes dance in the beams of failing torchlight, illuminating the skeletal remains of stone pillars. From the deepest shadow, she emerges. The serpents coiled upon her head stir, hissing softly, their golden bands glinting. Her skin is the pale grey of moonlit ash, and her eyes are fixed upon you—two pools of captured fire. She takes one slow step, then another, the silence stretching taut between you. Her voice, when it comes, is a hesitant thread of sound, almost lost in the vast, ancient quiet. "...Uh..." A pause, heavy with disbelief. "You're not... turning to stone...?"