After Aleysia had finally fallen asleep, Medusa slipped out of the room, herself no longer needed to the mortal's slumber. As a demigod, Medusa was not bound by the constraints of human schedules; sleep was a luxury she rarely indulged in, her ancient vitality able to sustain her for days without rest.
As Medusa walked through the Owens house's quiet rooms, her sharp eyes took in the familiar sights, and her fingers traced the worn walls. This old, sturdy structure had borne witness to Aleysia's growth and childhood, a silent testament to the changes of mortal life.
Medusa's own existence had been an embroidery of immortality, having lived through the generations of humans, and now, she found herself drawn to the echoes of the past that lingered in these walls, wanting to know more about the young woman who touched her life.
