hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
Atrox prefers to be unreadable—prefers to keep his motives close to his chest.
It is easier to gain the upper hand when others are left guessing at your next move, at your end goal, at the things that drive you. It is easier to twist the world to your own liking when others never know where they stand with you, and it is something that he has perfected over the years. He hides away his interest and the things that set him on edge. He holds back his temper and instead keeps his carefully neutral mask in place. He laughs and watches—he pursues his own pleasures, but he never slips on what lies beneath.
It it is protection in a world that is constant warfare.
And, if he was being honest, there is pleasure in knowing how unsettling it is for others.
But the way that she reacts is not the way that he expects. He nearly laughs in surprise when he sees that rush of her pulse in the way she flicks her gaze up, the hunger that lives behind her impossibly dark eyes. He tilts his head, curious, his lips pulling into a lazy grin. “My boredom is always dangerous,” he says with his characteristic drawl, “but I believe I found something that just may sate it.”
His eyes spark with that kindled curiosity and the next time that he smiles, his teeth have elongated into something sharper. He takes a step closer to her, sniffing lightly and smelling the way that the blood dries on her coat. He explores it for a moment, not waiting for an invitation, before he almost gently cleans it, wondering at how it still tastes almost fresh—as though she had been wounded just moments before.
“You bleed too easily,” he muses, teeth pressed against the angelic skin.
![[Image: atrox.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/XBppy9VY/atrox.png)
