Vulgaris
As a child, he lived in the shadows of his parents. He was always hurrying, hurrying to keep up with their long strides and praying he was enough. All his elder sisters carried their heads so high he could only dream of them, looming over him in their greatness while he huddled tight to the darkness of the night. The tiny boy had prayed for something to make him rival them, to become paramount in his father’s eyes so nothing and no one could ever look down on him again. He grew tall and strong, learned to balance the world on his shoulders and keep his chin up as though he balanced some mighty crown on his handsome head.
Then the curse turned its gleaming emerald eyes on him.
It ripped him apart and put him back together, stronger and hungrier than ever before.
He can remember the morning he woke up with hard scales tracing the chiseled angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Fury consumed him and he cursed his father for making him into a monster. Vulgaris wanted nothing but to set fire to the world he had finally grown to be a part of, wanted to crush them all between his new sharp teeth and drive them from their undeserved joys. Even now, sometimes he wakes and forgets what he has become, remembering only the face that the gods had crafted with such tender care. (That face is still there, looking out beneath the gray scales and sage colored eyes.)
Loneliness beats steadily against his chest as he looks out over the bodies occupying the land near the river – lovers whispering so excitedly to one another, friends giggling between secrets. He turns in on himself and grows bitter still. The slit pupil rolls back and forth in search of something, anything to keep his mind from all these tiresome woes. That’s when he sees her dragon wings folded so tightly around her. Vulgaris has a weakness for any girl with scales. In fact, his legs are moving before he’s even come to realize it.
The moonlight is just enough to glimmer across the snakeskin of his spine and the muscles of his shoulders when he slithers forward. He doesn’t take any precautions in his approach, doesn’t worry himself with stealth. He wants her to hear him coming. The tip of his tongue finds the point of one of his fangs as he draws closer.
“Your face is too soft for that expression,” he says in a voice like summer fires. Vulgaris offers a faint smile, a welcome mat straight to all the tender parts of him that he swore he buried out back some years ago. Truth be told, the serpent is a masochist when it comes to love and he’s always waiting for the next woman to break him open. (It’s only fair since he does the same to them, isn’t it?)
“My name is Vulgaris.”