Racheal and her cohort slipped through the metal doors, and the instant their boots crossed the threshold, the chamber awoke. Torches along the walls flared to life, but instead of firelight, they burned with black flames, smothering the room in an eerie glow.
The chamber stretched wide, vast enough for echoes to get lost in the shadows. Yet all eyes were inevitably drawn to the centerpiece, a colossal statue, thirteen feet tall.
It was a woman, sculpted with impossible precision. Every curve, every line of her body radiated artistry, a sculptor's obsession carved into stone. She stood nude, one arm raised high toward the heavens, the other bent across her chest in a modest veil. But no one was admiring the craftsmanship.
Her hair was wrong. Not strands, not locks, but snakes. Serpents frozen in mid-hiss, their stone eyes empty and dead. The sight alone was enough to raise a chill across the skin.
