"Maybe it was. Given that now you're trailing after me like a bitch in heat, I'm starting to think so."

That hurt to say, a dull ache in his chest, but that wasn't about to stop him. Poison always hurt to spit, but sometimes you had to. Sometimes, that ache was still better than the alternative. Sometimes, there was that horrible, bitter satisfaction to cruelty, as well.

It was awful. But it was something. And something was better than that dark, thick nothing inside him, so he guessed he should be grateful for that.