She only had to imitate the victim

So, they sent another hero to follow her. Well, he would try. This one was quieter than the last one. He negotiated the twists and turns of the cave without the slightest tinkle.

"So, is he coming?" she whispered.

"Almost there," said a faint voice just behind her head.

"I can see the tip of his shadow," said another.

Her gaze returned to the stone man in front of her. His body hunched, as if ready to leap, one arm raised, a protective gesture that had proved useless. Another adventurer, frozen forever. She still wished that one of them would prove different. 

This new adversary approaching, would he speak first? Would he take the time to announce himself, to explain his intrusion, to make sure he was here for right reasons? She turned her back and waited. A tiny snake's head rose in front of her face.

"I saw a shoulder," the reptile said in its reptilian voice. "Strong. Tanned."

"Like all the others," she sighed. "And then? What else?"

She envied each of these beings who made up her hair. Their gazes were harmless. Their tongues, less so.

"He's very handsome," a small voice said.

Perhaps she was still beautiful, it was possible, wasn't it? She didn't have the leisure to check in a mirror. She remembered her face before, before the snakes and the fear of men. She had been beautiful.

"He has clear, brave eyes," another one said.

"He takes the time to look," another said. "He knows how to think, that one, you should try to talk to him."

"He's the one," the first said. "He's the right one, I can feel it." Talk to him, it's been so long since we've spoken to anyone else.

She opened her mouth.

"He'll hate you," a voice cut in close to her ear. "Even before he sees your face. The mere sound of your voice will horrify him. You'd be wasting your time."

It was always that snake objecting. Always that voice insinuating.

And every time, every time, it was that voice she listened to. So she fell silent.

He was approaching. Had he realized she was spying on him? She heard him suddenly rushing towards her without a cry, and with as light a step as possible. Futile. He could have been a butterfly and she would still have noticed his approach. He was in her home. What if she fulfilled his expectations, his hope? She hadn't heard him coming, her snakes were asleep at this hour, how could she have detected the approach of such a skilled hero? 

She only had to imitate the victim: remain frozen and wait for the new hero to end her torment. His approach left her cold, that's all. He was very close, she could see with her own eyes a very faint reflection passing over the stone man in front of her, a reflection cast by the sword as it swung towards her. 

And on the hero's face,what? Fury, fear, pure determination? She could never stop looking.