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iv. Running illegal gigs
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The year is 1923 and we're in Paris.
Lilith's married a vampire named Henry and they own a club together. The best one in the city. The kind of place you went to for champagne brought from the Grande Marques and all the clandestine acts you could get away with.
The place isn't as busy as usual, most of the people are dancing. The lights are dim and there's live music playing. A lively jazz band. Flutes of champagne are being passed around; everyone's looking for a taste of the fizzy drink.
Lilith is away from the crowd, feeling a bit more reserved tonight. She stands in one of the corners of the club, nurturing a glass of champagne and on the other hand she carries an unlit cigarette.
There's nothing exciting about the club anymore. It's been the same for the past two years; except for that one time it was threatened to be shut down. But all they needed to do was fill the mortals' pockets.
The guests are all the same, human or not. The music stays the same. The champagne keeps its taste. Paris has nothing new to offer her.
Lately, she's been thinking of going back home, Hell is warm at this time of year.
Then, Henry joins her and pulls her out of her reverie. He offers to light her cigarette for her, she accepts though she considers carrying a lighter around from now on.
Her relationship with Henry is nothing special. Lilith isn't sure why she accepted to marry him or why he wanted to get married in the first place. They have eternity ahead, there's no need to settle down anytime soon. But she believes one of the reasons she said yes was because it was something new to her. Lilith had never pictured herself married and with a husband, so she wanted to see what it was like.
There's no love, neither is capable of it. There's no loyalty either, sometimes their nights are spent with someone else. But it's a relationship that works for them—till one grows sick of it.
