Medusa's Lair

Description:

The temple juts out from the jagged face of the mountain like a defiant spearhead, its marble bones cracked and weathered by time. Once a place of reverence for Athena, goddess of wisdom and war, it has long been forsaken by priests and mortals alike. Ivy coils like serpents across the broken columns, and moss creeps through every crack in the stone, softening the lines of once-precise architecture. Nature, slow and relentless, reclaims what the divine and the damned have abandoned.

The grand doorway still gapes open, dark and hollow, revealing the shadowed chamber within. Inside, silence reigns. Shafts of sunlight filter through the broken ceiling, illuminating the dust-laden air like divine judgment. The floor is strewn with cracked tile and roots that push upward as if the earth itself is trying to swallow the place whole.

Statues remain. Dozens of them—some mid-scream, others frozen in sorrow or confusion—stand where they fell victim to a gaze meant to protect, not curse. A young girl clutching her mother’s robe. A soldier with his blade half-drawn. A priestess with her hand raised in warning. They are stone, yet they carry the lingering weight of life. They are the only congregation that remains.

The altar at the center is scorched and stained, its offerings long since turned to dust. Medusa’s scent, wild and earthy, has faded. Only the echo of her presence lingers—a heavy stillness, a tension in the air like a held breath that will never be released.