6: bitter
Immortality has its advantages. Knowledge learned a century ago often came in handy, and had the ability to make a woman seem remarkable. This was something Lilith had learned quickly: Be remarkable. Oh, how she was. Barely a tongue existed which did not speak her name at some time or another. Of course, hardly any knew her except by reputation, and hers was not one that even eternity could repair.
There were the downsides, however. Immortality was not a secret easily kept. That did not lend it well to familiar ties. The exception being those similarly gifted. Her children, grown and gone—some of them dead and one… well one yet remained—provided very little company. And, despite her not insignificant number of lovers over time, Lilith found herself alone more than not. When you were cast out and scorned, eternity was a very long time.
She swirled the dregs of the drink, ice rattling in the etched crystal rocks glass. A Rusty Nail had the aftertaste of jealousy, but lingered with a sweetness such petty feelings never could. She let the last watered sip roll over her tongue and set the glass on the table before meeting the dark eyes set in the brown face of her companion. “Why would I ever agree to help you?”
The other woman—such a pointed turn of phrase—squared her shoulders. “I think it would give you something you desire.”
An interesting hook. Lilith lifted a dark brow in an unspoken question. What could Eve possibly give her?
“Revenge.”
©b.r. hill-mann 2019
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