5

Did it move? Are the snakes moving?

You circle the statue. Of course not—just the shifting way the sunlight moves through the trees, across the merest suggestion of serpents. The whole statue is a suggestion—of serpents, of leonine paws, of a woman's face twisted in wrath, yet somehow noble in its righteous fury.

You remember that Black Tarn was sworn to this tribe. Perhaps to this very statue—you never learned where she came from. Like Elton, she was a scholar and a seeker first, but you feared her rages, even though she never turned them on you. She was an avenger, a guardian, and—when she saw the weak suffer—a demon of wrath. But—again—she was a theurge first; indifferently committed to Gorgon. Could you follow her? What Rage waits within your heart, ready to be unleashed against those who torment the weak? How would you know when to stop?

Gorgon answers you with the movements of her serpents: you will never stop. Apollo and his children lied. No law ever came from on high to banish the Chthonian rage of the downtrodden. Kill and kill for a thousand years and you will never turn the tide of injustice. But—through wrath and ruin—you might just save Gaia. Maybe then you can ask yourself if it's possible to go too far.

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