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The mortal woman had been lovely: all rosy skin and golden loose braids and innocent, blessed dumbness. Do not eat, Satan had wanted to shout from her serpentine body. Yet she had shut the serpentine mouth, let the fair fool succumb to Gluttony as planned, allow her to become food for the never-ending gluttony of Satan's horrendous, pale shadow of a son.
Her hideous son who would never come for his mother—for the one, sole cause of all sorrow and pain—as he had not come for her when she had lovingly thrown her naked self to the inviting arms of radiant War. She was all spirit, and this body she wore, as the serpent’s, a mere façade, empty of matter, of gross solidness appropriate for Death’s fine palate. No form of torture, of strict deprivation could set her free from hell as hell was herself and yet, so long as she perdured, she could try.