The living tendrils wrap themselves around my arms, seeking warmth in my cold being.
I look into their ink-black eyes, the eyes that meet mine coolly and without any semblance of emotion.
The snake does not forgive. It does not forget.
It lies in wait, for the moment it will strike and claim its vengeance.
Slowly wrapping about its prey, constricting peacefully, quietly until the life is squeezed out-