#plumalibi

                    light conversation;   customary at dinner parties, yet there’s no reason not to have a little fun with it. rouge-painted lips are set in a coquettish grin as she taps the ash of her cigarette gently into the tray at the table in front of them, leaning to reach but never slouching in posture. having the question turned on her is to be expected. her answer’s already formulated, and she spares only a moment to consider it before speaking, butt hovering close to mouth, awaiting another puff.   ‘ the throne.   lucifer strikes me as a man i wouldn’t mind spending eternity with. ’   softly, coyly, she laughs, inhaling nicotine and exhaling smoke slowly.   ‘ if not, i imagine we’ll be neighbors. ’

           he hates how  accustomed he’s grown to seeing dead bodies over the past hour, how the shock factor seems to have faded into something just short of apathy.  for someone whose entire personality mostly revolved around sheer nerves, he’s found that the evening’s morbid events have worn his mental state thin enough that not even the sight of a 20 - something girl, throat crushed and mottled with fresh bruises, could elicit his normal reaction of immediate panic.  his shoulders ache with a burden he shouldn’t have to carry.