O enemy, do I terrify? // any

[vulgaris]

IT ALL ADDS UP TO THIS: THE HOLLOW CHEST, THE BRUISED NECK, THE SHAKING HANDS.
YOUR BODY, THE TRIUMVIRATE OF UNHOLY THINGS
It would take all the hounds of hell to make him admit his loneliness, even to himself. His hours are spent in the pursuit of anything and everything to fill the void in his life but he will never breathe those words aloud. The serpent is a solitary creature, after all. (Though he had taken some secret comfort in hugging Cellar close to him when the lightning and thunder terrified her. His daughter was only a tiny, trembling thing back then.) The hunt is typically as close as he comes to company anymore.

But Vulgaris is still rather young. He has always preyed on those smaller, slower, weaker than him without ever knowing the true taste of battle. To say he has earned the blood that has drooled from his chin would be a lie no matter how many times he says it to himself. This one has ripped her triumph from others and held it tight to her breast, though he wouldn’t know it. When he feels teeth across his scaled hip, he turns his dark head abruptly and freezes in his place. Dreams of burgundy and crackling bones fill his thoughts.

But then she speaks and he hears only a challenge.

The ink black slits in his eyes narrow for a moment as they examine her – older, female, plain. He is arrogant in his assumptions but God knows that youth is an all-knowing, boastful fool. His lips pull back into a calm grin to reveal all his pointed teeth lined up and ready to strike. “Maybe you should have gotten out of my way,” he says as he turns his body now to face her. His voice is smoldering embers in summer. Any manners his father had tried to instill in him have faded and left only a careless beast in their place.

He takes two, then three steps forward with his head held high. There is enough space to afford him a reaction time if she chooses to lash out at him, but little more than this. “What is your name, bitter woman?” he asks with a tilt of his head. His black forelock falls from his face and he doesn’t seem interested in offering up his own name just yet. His green eyes creep across her face until they spot the gold along the edges of her ears. A tinge of envy pours through him but he does not allow the emotion to show in his expression. Rather, he focuses on her eyes instead. They are like most others and he reminds himself of that. Hadn’t Pond called him beautiful, after all?

VULGARIS
THERE WAS NOTHING MORE DIVINE THAN HAVING SINNED WITH YOU.