The Crone

Deep in a black marsh, we encounter a foul-smelling yurt of mud and reeds. From the doorway, a fragile crone beckons to us with trembling fingers. Her crooked bones stretch her skin to near translucence, while her rotting teeth reek of spoiled meat.

"Travellers," she croaks, "this night will be cold! Will you help a poor old woman to light a fire in her home?" The crone frightens us — and yet we cannot refuse her request. We enter the hovel. As soon as we pass the threshold, the door slams behind us.

The old woman cackles. "Foolish little mice. Know ye not the power of weakness? What is old is wise! What is frail is mighty!” Her body begins to ripple and grow. Before our very eyes, she becomes a great, slavering snake. “Do not be afraid. I will not devour you. Instead, I will teach you true power!”