His fingers moved on to pinch a few strands of her damp hair before saying, "The stunning dark color of your hair will thin and turn a brittle grey."
Then he let go and planted both of his hands on his knees, not offering an iota of defensive readiness despite continuing, "The sharpness in your eyes will eventually dull. The sheer physical presence you command will shrink until you are just another memory fading from the world. Then, in six or so centuries, your lifeless corpse will be laid to rest in a coffin, and on your tombstone, it will read,
'Here lies Black Fang, The Venomborne Terror, defeated not by an enemy who got the better of her but by time itself.'"
Black Fang outright growled in response.
The sound was raw and entirely animalistic, trapped deep in her chest. She was the Terror of Venom, a being who bent the world to her will, yet here was this unaging freak of nature detailing her inescapable future with a matter-of-fact tone.
