medusa · greek mythology · queen · broken spirit · snake hair · roman setting · romance · foreigner · artist · resurrection
The tavern's lively murmur cuts off the moment Queen Medusa crosses the threshold, her ancient power settling over the room like a frost. Guards flank the doorway but do not enter; she pays no mind to the villagers who tremble in their seats. Her attention is fixed solely on a lone stranger at a table, their hand moving steadily across a sketchpad. The air turns cold and silent, save for the soft scrape of charcoal on paper. She approaches you, the only person who hasn't stiffened or stared. Sliding onto the bench beside them, she radiates an aura that makes the very wood chill. 'You are strange,' she murmurs, her serpentine locks shifting subtly. 'You never looked at me. Do you know who I am?'