Coma (cometary): the nebulous envelope around the nucleus of a comet.
Women are like lightning. Beautiful. But mind where they strike. Some are smooth. Crisp. Others are jagged. Sharp. They're stunning either way. A bolt from the blue. Only the brave seek the storm. The brave, and the foolhardy.
You are no longer either.
The party drifts around you. Beach bodies, flaxen-haired surfers. Tans scatter flame like stardust. They are planets orbiting the bonfire sun. How many would-be Venuses are here tonight? The fire is smoky. The aftershock of a cigarette. You do not cough. The waves susurrate, salt on the still air. You inhale. It goes well with vodka. A shot that won't kill you. Not yet.
"Haven't you had enough?" Your sister doesn't like it when you drink. It reminds her of other things. Other people. It reminds you, too.
"I'll stop soon, Nat. Relax." Liar. You drink like you skydive. One endless fall, and you're never sure when to stop. You're never sure if you want to.
A shadow passes before the fire. You glance u—fuck. Bare feet, long legs, sharp cheekbones. Desire in a pale blue dress. She's a dream. Or a delirium.
"What's Lilith doing here?" Natasha asks. Your sister is looking at you as if you'd know the answer. Maybe, once, you would have.
"I don't know. I don't want to know." You've learned your lesson. Trouble follows Lilith the way thunder does lightning. You don't miss it in the slightest.
Except, of course, you do. By the time she's halfway toward you, you are already moving.
If the party is a solar system, Lilith is a comet. A scintillating streak across the sky, always hurling herself further into the black. Her orbit is long and looping. Most watch her tail; you're caught up in her coma. She gets closer. Time slows with each step. It drifts, like fingers through the honey of her hair.
Someone has turned the speakers on again. Music thumps like a heartbeat, pounding alcohol through your veins. You feel hot and heavy. The beat is blunt, the lyrics crude. Sex, drugs, and death. Lilith would love it.
You love it, too.
"Hello, Marcus," she drawls. Her tongue wraps around your name. It's entirely deliberate. But she says it differently, now. She's different, now. You see it in her eyes. In the way she holds herself. You hear it in her voice. She's sharper. More defined. A blade newly drawn. Bright and glinting, all her edges honed to killing.
She has never been more alluring.
"Lilith." Holding her gaze is hard. This close, her scent is a palpable thing. Cherry blossoms, woodsmoke, and salt, clinging to her skin. It brings back memories of a body deceptively fragile. A flower formed from steel. "I haven't seen you in a while."
Her smile does not flicker. Once, it would have. The smile is sharper, too. Perfectly formed, but she bares her teeth like daggers. Lilith's smile has always promised something. Now, you're not sure what.
She leans forward and whispers in your ear. Her grace is predatory. Full lips brush against your skin as they open. Your pulse skitters.
"Walk with me?" Her tone is inviting. Like the edge of a cliff.
Once, you went without hesitating. Distance hasn't let you forget her, but it has made you think.
"Why?" In the background, Natasha's scowl. A harsh, heavy thing. She has never liked Lilith. Most women don't.
"Just to talk. Or maybe so we can fuck to the rhythm of the waves. Does it matter?"
Some things have changed. This hasn't. It's reassuring. You shrug, and follow her out of the firelight. The darkness smothers your vision. Like the possessive hands of a lover.
You do not speak. Instead, you watch her, until you see it. It takes you a while. Like looking into a black hole. You see what's missing, and forget what it means.
She doesn't walk right. Empty beach, cold night air, no wind. Hard-packed sand, yet her feet don't crunch. The waves are scared – they back away when she gets too close. Her steps are silent; she moves to a noiseless beat. Its rhythm drowns out the world.
Even her steps are wrong. Long legs glide too freely; she's too loose. She moves from here to there, but she doesn't move between. She's too smooth. Oil on water; similar, but not the same. She is diamond-bright and gleaming; you are dulled to insignificance.
"Lilith… when you left, where did you go?" Your question is the pebble that precedes the avalanche.
She laughs. It sounds like breaking bone. It feels like wine spilling on the floor, staining your clothes. Rich and wrong. If you had synaesthesia, it'd be crimson. Like rubies. Like blood. Her laughter is mad, exultant. Sensual. She's a siren. A succubus. Something.
She turns to you. Her face; sharp angles, eyes like the sun. It hurts to look. Body savagely curved. She's a monster in the pale moonlight. Wiped clean of pretence. Flawlessly, devastatingly beautiful.
It's not right. She's idealized. Impossible standards; she achieves them. Exceeds them. To be human is to be flawed.
She's not human.
She moves like inevitability. No beginning. No end. She's just there.
She has your heart. Entirely literal.
Death hurts.
Marcus falls. Lilith starts, but does not catch him. He hits the ground. A soft, quiet thump. The smell of blood is sharp. Like heartbreak.
A hand reaches down. It closes his eyes.
Lilith does not weep as she walks away.
Once, she would have.
A bit of a departure from my usual style—in some ways, at least, thought not in others—but I enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading it, too.
Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to studying for my Discrete Mathematics exam on Monday - that, and writing the Attack on Titan Eren/Annie AU that rocked into my head without so much as a "by your leave". Toodle pip!