The Cursed One
Draped over a cushioned kline, the hooded figure basks in the heat of the room. The robes that hang from her slender frame, though of fine make, show telltale signs of age and wear. Her sandals look poorly suited to travelling, yet bear the wethering of long miles. With a shrug of her narrow shoulders, her hood falls back to reveal a pale face of disarming beauty. Of more concern, however, is the nest of vipers that unfurl from her head, inspecting their surroundings with ophidian indifference. She avoids direct eye contact with those around her, keeping the lids of her green eyes low. Gently - delicately - Euryale strokes the neck of one the serpents and smiles, as though the creature had imparted a most private joke.
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