Days turned into weeks. The town healed. The fear vanished.
Adaora walked freely, laughing, studying, living.
People whispered again—but now with awe. Some called her Ada Eke, the girl blessed by the serpent. Others simply called her Adaora, and smiled.
One afternoon, sitting under the mango tree, she turned to Emeka. “You know, you never gave up on me.”
He grinned. “I couldn’t. Snakes or not, you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
She laughed, a sound like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“Maybe you should be careful,” she teased. “I still have some serpent left in me.”
He winked. “Good. I like danger.”
They sat together, watching the sky turn gold, the air full of the hum of new beginnings.
Epilogue — The Whisper of Scales
That night, as Adaora stood by her window, a breeze brushed her cheek. The moon shone white again. She looked at her reflection—and for a fleeting moment, saw golden eyes staring back.
Then a gentle voice echoed in her mind.
You are never alone, child. We are one, not curse, but balance.
Adaora smiled softly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For letting me live.”
Behind her, Emeka stirred in his sleep, murmuring her name.
And as the night embraced them, the faint sound of a snake’s hiss drifted through the wind — not a threat, but a lullaby.
The serpent no longer hunted her.
It guarded her.
And somewhere in the shadows, the old legend of Eke Nneka began anew—
this time, not as a curse, but as a story of love that tamed even the oldest gods.
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