Madame d'Mairres

In the twisting back-ways of Feyns District, a small and unassuming storefront sits nestled beside a narrow alley. Only an ancient sign above the porch marks the doorway as anything of note, proclaiming in faded paint that it belongs to one Madame d'Mairres. Heading inside, one is confronted by a room that while meticulously clean, still carries the dessicated scent of centuries of dust in the air. Looking around, the items on display reveal this place as a sculptor's shop. Busts of various people sit on a row of plinths like men and women on parade. Statues of others stand watch, silent observers of the few that enter and leave. Their visages are perfectly life-like, disturbingly so, almost as if they could live and breath as a person could...
A bored looking young woman, seemingly someone different each time, sits behind a counter in the corner. She will tell you that "yes, this is Madame d'Mirres' workshop", "no, I am not her", "she is downstairs in her workshop right now", "no, you may not see her, she is terribly busy", and finally if pressed, "fine, if you insist". She opens a small door beside the counter, leading down a dark flight of narrow stairs into a dimly lit basement, and shuts it behind her with a heavy click of the latch. A soft hissing comes from down below, like that of several snakes. Scales shimmer a tarnished silver and green in the murk. Your gaze follows an undulating serpent, upwards to where it almost looks like a...
Several days later, a new bust is brought up from the depths of the workshop. Its features are strikingly familiar to those who knew a person who came into this shop recently... and did not come back out again.