V u l g a r i S
When he was young and still so very small, he used to think his father was a god. All children think that of their parents, of course, but not in the same way that Vulgaris did. His father walked like he carried the entire weight of the world on his big, strong shoulders but he kept his head held high like the burden was nothing at all. He cradled the serpent boy close and told him ancient stories of war and famine and feasts. Sometimes, Larva told him of the monsters he had loved and killed and died for. And he had done it all so, so many times.
He used to think the old man would just be reborn any time Death came to collect him again, like it just wanted to see him tear the world apart one more time. But then one day he died and he never did come back. Vulgaris waited at the shore for hours, days maybe but his body never moved even for just one breath. Death had grown tired of its favorite son and he would not return this time. So then why had that eternal slumber eluded him? Why did eternity taste the serpent king’s skin and fling him back into his lover’s arms? It picked little pieces of him to keep and remember him by, but it didn’t hold him to its breast and speak soft vows into his neck.
Was he doomed to rise and fall, then?
Leliana plucked him from the noiseless gray beach and told him to live, so now he wanders the river wondering what that means anymore. Used to, he thought it meant to hunt and take and devour the strength of his enemies. He thought that the killing was the only living he could do. But when he sees Malca there, dripping wet and still so young, his breath catches in his throat.
To live is to protect, to serve the ones he loves more than anything. He would find a way to smother Death for them, he thinks. He would hold the sun in the palm of his hand swallow it whole if it meant that they would be safe forever.
Vulgaris moves forward and pulls her close in his embrace, her icy skin pressed tight to his burning hot neck and chest. She had been lost for so long that he had carved out a hole in his heart in the shape of her, named a thousand constellations after her just to feel like she wasn’t really gone. He closes his eyes and his breath shudders from his lungs at the smell of forever in her mane.
“Malca, I’ve lost count of the days,” he mumbles against her small face as he peppers her with kisses. “So much has happened. I’ve missed you so much.”
He doesn’t know where to begin and so he doesn’t begin at all. Instead, he just keeps holding her tight and trying to convince himself this is real.
He used to think the old man would just be reborn any time Death came to collect him again, like it just wanted to see him tear the world apart one more time. But then one day he died and he never did come back. Vulgaris waited at the shore for hours, days maybe but his body never moved even for just one breath. Death had grown tired of its favorite son and he would not return this time. So then why had that eternal slumber eluded him? Why did eternity taste the serpent king’s skin and fling him back into his lover’s arms? It picked little pieces of him to keep and remember him by, but it didn’t hold him to its breast and speak soft vows into his neck.
Was he doomed to rise and fall, then?
Leliana plucked him from the noiseless gray beach and told him to live, so now he wanders the river wondering what that means anymore. Used to, he thought it meant to hunt and take and devour the strength of his enemies. He thought that the killing was the only living he could do. But when he sees Malca there, dripping wet and still so young, his breath catches in his throat.
To live is to protect, to serve the ones he loves more than anything. He would find a way to smother Death for them, he thinks. He would hold the sun in the palm of his hand swallow it whole if it meant that they would be safe forever.
Vulgaris moves forward and pulls her close in his embrace, her icy skin pressed tight to his burning hot neck and chest. She had been lost for so long that he had carved out a hole in his heart in the shape of her, named a thousand constellations after her just to feel like she wasn’t really gone. He closes his eyes and his breath shudders from his lungs at the smell of forever in her mane.
“Malca, I’ve lost count of the days,” he mumbles against her small face as he peppers her with kisses. “So much has happened. I’ve missed you so much.”
He doesn’t know where to begin and so he doesn’t begin at all. Instead, he just keeps holding her tight and trying to convince himself this is real.
In this shook-up, twisted world, I'm gradually growing transparent and vanishing
Don’t look for me; don't look at me
Don’t look for me; don't look at me
