He blinked. Then, against every law of infernal nature, the Lord of Darkness let out a long, weary sigh.
“I know,” she said. “You’re a nobody. I find it refreshing. Everyone in my life is a somebody . They all want something. You want nothing.”
Last night, Lilith rolled over in bed. Her tail wrapped around my ankle. Her horns caught the moonlight. He blinked
She was tall. Not supermodel tall— intimidating tall. Hair the color of a raven’s broken dream, cut into a jagged bob. Skin pale as fresh parchment. Lips that looked like they’d been stained with blackberries. And her eyes… they were the exact shade of a shallow, sun-drenched sea—turquoise, warm, and utterly, terrifyingly human.
She ate it. Then she cried harder. Then she fell asleep on my stained IKEA couch, her tail curling around my leg like a cat’s. “You’re a nobody
The wedding was a nightmare of gothic splendor. My groomsmen were three imps who kept stealing the rings. Lilith wore a dress of shadow and starlight. She walked down the aisle to a dirge played on human femurs. The officiant was a rotting corpse who kept forgetting my name. When it came time for the kiss, Lilith whispered, “If you ever leave me, I will hunt you across every plane of existence.”
Lilith stood in the doorway. She was wearing yoga pants and a hoodie that said “I <3 My Dad” with a little pitchfork replacing the heart. She was also holding a glowing ultrasound image. They all want something
Lilith stared at me with the flat, exhausted rage of a woman who has explained basic biology to a golden retriever. “Leo. I am the daughter of Satan. My ovulation cycle operates on a quantum level. Your little latex speed bump was about as effective as a screen door on a submarine.”
For three weeks. The nausea started on a Tuesday. I thought it was the pho. Then my nipples started to hurt. Not chafing-hurt. Cosmic-hurt . Like they were trying to communicate with alien lifeforms. I googled symptoms. WebMD said: Pregnancy, demonic possession, or lactose intolerance.