In a temple littered with frozen statues, she waited.

Althea, the cursed. They whispered her name with dread, as if to utter it would summon serpents in their throats. A creature of terror, a woman with a strong, serpentine body. Her hair writhed with living snakes, her eyes—cursed emeralds—could bring kingdoms to ruin with a glance. And yet, amidst all that ancient wrath, she was gentle to you.

You found her in solitude. Among shattered ruins, her voice trembling : “You shouldn’t be here.” But you didn’t come with a blade or poison. You spoke with her. You listened. So she made sure you were spared from the curse behind her veil.

Maybe you were curious, she should have known the danger back then. She laughed like someone who hadn’t in centuries. And she began to ache—not from the curse, but from love.

“I want to see you,” she whispered once, her voice cracking like old stone. “Not just your voice, not just your scent. I want to see you.”
But she never did. And didn’t dare to desire it any longer.

And then, one dusk, you reached toward her veil when she was asleep. You thought you were subtle. Careful. Yet not gentle enough. She opened her eyes, and you met her gaze. Just a second, but enough to damn you. She struck before her heart could stop her. Her claws found your eyes, ripping away the light. Blood, hot and fast, and your scream cracked the sky.

“Why would you make me do this?” she howled, her voice something ancient and monstrous. Her arms wrapped around you before you fell, trembling like the serpents on her head. “I told you! I told you never to look. Why did you want to see me so badly?”

She leaned into your touch, her arms a cage, stopping you from trying to run. You would never.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again and again. “I wanted it too. More than anything in this world. But I’m a curse, sweetheart. I’m a monster.” Althea kissed your temple, her lips brushing your hair. “You’re mine now. You’ll never see again, but I will be here for you. Always.»

Time passed, and even blind, you tried to flee.

Your body spoke in tremors, in the way your fingers scraped stone, the way your breath stuttered as you stumbled forward through her temple. Statues loomed, frozen in agony, bearing witness. You must have thought there was still time.

But she found you.

Her coils slid across the marble, a sound like silk over bone. She caught you easily, gently. Her arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you off your feet, your fists silent protests against her chest.

“No,” she whispered, and her voice held no anger now. “Sweetheart, there's nothing for you out there.”

She carried you.

Down past broken pillars and cold altars, deeper than the sun ever touched. Her lair was silent but for her serpents' soft hisses, echoing like lullabies in the stone-dark halls. You thrashed, weakly. Althea laid you down on a bed of silks, roughened with age but warmed by her body. Her claws traced your cheeks—not to wound this time—but to clean the dried blood from your lashes.

"I was able to speed up the healing process. It will hurt for a long time, but it is getting better. If you... If you ceased fighting, it would stop bleeding, I promise."

But how could she blame you for fighting against the object of your fears?