The Weaver examined herself in a mirror. The same face she had always known stared back at her: creamy, pale skin, high cheekbones, golden hair spilling over her shoulders. Adele’s face. But not completely.
Her eyes were orange now, with thin, vertical slits for pupils. She pawed at her chin with her left hand, a hand now covered in scales. No, this would not do at all.
Stepping back, she opened her robe ever so slightly to expose her midriff. The bullet holes were gone – healed by her power – but a spiderweb of green veins tarnished her skin.
This vessel was useless to her now.
No one would believe that a woman with snake eyes was a benevolent god. Fury bubbled up until she had to resist the urge to punch the mirror. This was precisely the outcome that she had been trying to avoid!
E
