He falls too quickly, like the hypnotic lull of water lapping at the shore, or the gurgle of blood. She offers him a closed-lipped smile, crooked and crimson; why doesn’t she show her teeth? Surely a girl as beautiful as she has a mouth to match. But he takes it anyway, eagerly, basking in the precious warmth of a gift so common, and yet so uncommon because it belongs to her.

She’s new in town; he remembers the waft of cinnamon and vanilla floating from her wrists as she swayed past him down the hall.

“Her name’s Lilith,” He turns to face the speaker, a fellow classmate.
“Where did she come from?” He asks.
The classmate shrugs and leaves. How can he be so casual? She’s new, and he would later swear she glanced his way as she passed. 

She’s new, and fresh, and old too. Old at conversation, old at confidence, old at knowing how to answer a question without paying attention, and then granting him a sly look like he knows how she does It; old at flirting, his friends tell him, but he knows she’s polished by untouched means. Like mountains. Or bones.

“Come to my house tomorrow night,” she says. And though they are meaningless by themselves, the words strung together swell and toss. He’s suddenly so unsure. What does it mean that she wants him? When she knows how much he wants her? But he accepts, because he’s afraid of questioning the power that’s allowed him the tiniest glance of her, much less an invitation.

He props his bike by a tree and walks up the steps of 3219. The air, which is silent and devoid of heat, of light, suddenly erupts as his fist reached for the door. The smell of dirt materializes, loamy and wet in space between him and house. He gags.

“Hello? Lilith?” Silence, except for the rattling sound of his own coughing.

“Too rich for use, for Earth too dear,” her lilting voice carries from inside, and he pauses, hoping to catch another word drifting from those close-lipped lips.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

The door swings open. “My house. It’s beautiful, is it not? Too beautiful to fall apart like this,” she says, gesturing a milky-white hand to the paint peeling on the window frame.

“You’re too beautiful for me,” He stutters, gulping and wishing he had stayed silent.

A bead of sweat forms on his forehead and she follows it with her eyes, down his nose and splattering on his lower lip. “No, I am just enough,” she says softly. 

She takes his hand and leads him inside. The inside agrees with the outside, in form and figure. Dust cloaks the rococo furnishings, velvet like her words and just as supple. They’re falling apart, the chairs, the tiles of the floor, the chandelier which dangles precariously from chains choked in cobwebs. How does she live like this?

She takes both of his hands. “You’re special,” she whispers, leaning in and inhaling his cheap cologne. His breath shortens and his heart speeds up. “And-“ she moves her lips to his cheek. “You’re all mine,” she licks at the dried sweat on his jaw.

He recoils in disgust, eyes widening.. Did she just…? But she tightens her hands around his wrists. He struggles to wipe away at the saliva, but she holds fast.

“Are you insane?” He hisses, even though he’s more bewildered than angry. She smiles, sweetly, demurely, and he wants to kiss her now more than ever.

“No,” she licks the other side of his face, and then up the slant of his nose. He shoves at her, but her fingers are diamond, too pretty to be holding on so tight and yet too tight to be anything else. She stands on her tiptoes, eyeing him pleasantly, before taking a large bite out of his cheek.

He screams., before choking on the blood cascading into his mouth. Strands of tissue hang limply from the bone and globs of fat glisten in the shafts of moonlight from the window. He clutches the ruined remains of his check, scrabbling at the floor where she flung him.  She grins, her crimson teeth to match the crimson lips. He screams and reaches for the doorknob, but she pulls him back by his ankles.

“I’m too beautiful to die. Can’t you see that? And without you, I’ll fall apart, like this godforsaken house,” She flips him so he’s facing her, his blood from her mouth dripping into his eye. “You’re too special and I’m too pretty,” She grabs a fistful of his hair, raising his scalp to her mouth, before taking another bite.

She drops him and at first he screams. She lets him. He screams until he moans, and he moans until he cries. Tears make pink tracks in his puffy mutilated face, while she watches him curiously. After years-or is it hours?- of agony, she approaches him, kneeling. “L-li-Lilith,” he breathes.

“You really are special. Which is why I’m going to enjoy this so much,” She strokes the corner of his mouth with her thumb, before biting down on the delicate skin of his neck, and tearing.