sexāgintā octō

"I am Medusa!"

Medu what? Medusa? How possible? She didn't seem to look it by the way. How can a lady dressed in a long red gown, a stylish footwear which leaves her leg occasionally, and a dead locks on her head be the same as Medusa.

He was forced to think about when he first met Poseidon. He had thought him to be some imposter but turned out that he was the real person.

He wasn't sure yet. Probably the fellow was yet not Poseidon but some guys or wannabe who loved to fool themselves. He couldn't be really sure.

How long had she been standing there? She seemed to be moody. He didn't know what to think. Her gaze shifted at intervals.

At a time, her face looked calm, then boom, it would wear confusion and sometimes, the merging of the two. He wasn't in for guesses.

"How may I help you?"