The artifact resurfaced days later. No one connected the events.
This time, it was purchased by a renowned fashion icon— Katri Laurence. She adored vintage accessories and wore the band like a bracelet.
She sat at her vanity, brushing her hair and humming softly. The band shimmered as it caught the light.
Then the mirror darkened.
A silhouette appeared.
She turned—nothing.
Turned back—the figure appeared in the reflection of the mirror. His face covered in blood with an terrifying expression.
She backed away in fear.
An unseen hand clamped around her throat, choking the scream into silence. She thrashed in panic.
Then—nothing.
The grip vanished.
She collapsed, gasping.
The lights burst. The door slammed shut.
Katri bolted, racing toward the hallway door. She banged against it with desperate fists. "Help!" she cried, voice trembling. "Somebody—!" Something grabbed her throat again—lifted her off the ground.
She clawed at the unseen grip, kicking wildly. Her makeup scattered beneath her heels.
The figure faded. She fell.
Then it came back.
The next morning, she was found lifeless on the marble floor of her room. Her spine was twisted unnaturally, bones shattered, and the same deep X-shaped slashes marked her chest.
And resting beside her body, still warm to the touch, was the serpent band—glowing softly in the morning sun.