The Serpent was nothing like I had imagined. Instead of the menacing figure I had envisioned, she appeared more like a small, unassuming abuela, her presence almost understated in its simplicity. Her hair, a muted gray, was neatly coiled into a tight bun atop her head, and she wore a plain, tan-colored dress that hung loosely on her frame, as if to obscure any hint of power she might wield. Yet, despite her unadorned appearance, the air around her seemed to hum with a quiet, restrained energy.
The moment she entered the room, her eyes—sharp and calculating—locked onto Drex with a gaze that could have turned stone to dust. It was a look filled with old, unresolved bitterness, a silent accusation that hung in the air like a specter from the past. Drex returned her gaze with a coldness that matched her own, a palpable tension crackling between them. It was clear that whatever history they shared, it was fraught with pain and betrayal, a wound that had never truly healed.
