The woman wore shadows like aristocrats wear their fine furs. Shrouded in darkness she extends a pale skinned leg and walks into the moonlight with the smell of burnt leaves and blood lingering in the air. The soft click of her heels on cobblestones echoes down the buildings external coridors and sends wayward creatures of the night scampering to their hiding spots.
Her crimson stained lips curl in a satyrical smile as her alabaster flesh glows beneath the leather and lace that caresses her body. The scent rolling off of her is that of her namesake, Lillith.
Turning golden orbs of honey to the pale moonlight, she emerges on the outskirts of a carnival, slowly she makes her way to the big top.
Lillith has arived.
