The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Whimsy is a Woman 
by Elaine Pascale 

“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t worry about diet,” her date from the app chided after he had asked Mei about the panda tattoo on her left arm. She had told him that pandas were her favorite animal. That was not entirely a lie. She told him they fascinated her because their diet was completely inefficient and yet they grew fat. She couldn’t tell him that she had her tattoo because children loved it. It made them less fearful when she approached their cages.

He had said the tattoo looked new and she had told him she had it for “decades.” This was not entirely a lie. The truth was she had to have the same tattoo reapplied as her flesh continuously healed over it.

He had suggested dinner. Mei would have proposed a walk in the park at night. She made it a habit to never eat in front of others. They would be sickened by how inefficient her diet was. But she was on a mission, so she would have to find a way through a charade of a meal.

The fairy lights made Mei’s eyes look brown instead of red. They also made her witch’s teat difficult to detect. She and her date would not discuss the stigma diabolicum on her wrist which was visible and never healed over; the panda was safe conversation.

“A pretty little thing like you must go on a lot of dates. What made you use the app?”

Mei told him that she was new in town and working remotely, so had no way of meeting people. This was not entirely a lie. She was working for her coven. They had sent her to a new city, to find fresh samples they could use. Their fetus harvest had failed due to a lack of “crop rotation.” They required genetic variety.

He noticed she was ignoring the menu. “Do you want an appetizer? A drink?”

She was hungry; she hadn’t consumed an infant or child in weeks. If only she had the digestive enzymes to stuff down hors d’oeuvres and crepes and tapas and dumplings. If only she could swallow grilled filet mignon with garlic confit cloves and red wine reduction sauce. If only she could bring herself to put her mouth on some sun-dried tomato tilapia stuffed with rock lobster and asparagus.

But only flesh would do. And only youthful, tender offerings that were raised like veal.

She waved the waiter away when he approached. “A little more time,” she requested, sheepishly.

“Should I order for you? It’s something I like to do,” her date suggested.

She shook her head. She was about to make the fairy lights explode as an excuse to end the date when he reached across the table and put his warm hand on her cold one. “Women are made of whimsy,” he said, “Just try anything.”

Her eyes widened. Dare she deviate from her inefficient diet?

“You won’t know you like it until you try it.” He stroked her wrist, his fingers arousing her brand, making it tingle. His hands were soft and without callouses. She remembered that his profile on the app had mentioned private school, a position in the family business, and luxury vacations. He was sheltered; he was pampered.

“A pretty little thing like you, can have whatever you’d like,” he murmured in a low tone. He leaned toward her, his scent reaching her. He smelled sweet and salty. He smelled as if he had been marinated in indulgences. He smelled…young.

Her stomach rumbled.

He was right, she decided. She reached beneath the table and squeezed his thigh. She suggested they skip dinner.

In her home, as she feasted on him, she was pleased to discover that he made for a much more efficient diet.

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Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com

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