She is old as Earth, withering, tough. Bottle-glass, winged red spectacles, a string of fat pearls. Skin furrowing into grikes, small mouth pursed, teeth long and yellowed from smoke. She is the world. She is Grendel’s mother. Thin as a sapling but strong. She would kill you with a look. With half a look. She has lovers instead of boyfriends, and those rarely. She is eternal. She will live forever and ever and ever.