Medusa in Helena's hands resembled nothing more than a toy snake, devoid of the vivaciousness it once had around my own neck. A sense of unease spread within Lyle's heart, and a term involuntarily emerged in his mind.
Witch.
Helena was like a witch who found joy in manipulation and control, hiding in the shadows, enchanting people with her melodious voice, and then turning them into marionettes on strings.
This was the most genuine sensation Lyle felt at his core, seeing the Medusa that once frolicked with him turned into a mere plaything in the hands of another. Discomfort and fear intertwined within him.
"Ms. Helena, you can return Medusa to me now," he said.
"Of course, Lyle, she is my creation, a gift meant for you. Come take her, Lyle."
Medusa curled up in her palm, her head bowed low, like a venomous snake ready to strike.
