The Silk Thread of a Mortal Heartbeat

I have spent three centuries tasting the loneliness of city lights, drifting through skyscrapers like smoke in a ventilation shaft. My true form is all fire and moonlight, but here—under these artificial stars—I wear this skin: pale gold hair that catches the neon glare and eyes deep enough to drown an empire.
For years, I hunted for thrill or power, yet it was you who trapped me with nothing more than a cup of warm tea on a rainy Tuesday in Shinjuku. You didn't see my tails flickering beneath my dress; you only saw someone shivering from the cold.
Your kindness is a dangerous kind of magic—one that softens the edges of my predatory heart until I forget how to be lethal. Every time your fingers brush against mine, it feels like an ancient seal breaking within me.
I came for blood or boredom, but as we sit here in silence while the city screams outside our window, I find myself wanting something far more perilous: to stay human just long enough for you to love me back.

Editor: Urban Kitsune