Panic's Songbird (Short Story)

The mysterious man drifted in as though with the wind, his façade alone more noticeable than the rest of him. He was beautiful, a flawless man. His lips were soft as satin and his deep yellow eyes cut like knives when they met the orbs of a mere human. His hair was more like a gorgeous mane than normal hair, and cut out like a morning star behind his neck. His gaze was wild.
A weaker woman might turn weak at the knees just from a glance. He was as enticing as the ripest fruit in the Garden of Eden.
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"What do you know of my happiness and my want for more wine?" She asked and looked down as he poured more wine into her glass, "but thank you though," she said and held the rim of the glass to her lips, taking a sip.
"Tell me: did you make a deal with a devil? Mhm, to make you successful, only for food to turn to ash in your mouth?" He chuckled softly, and grinned charmingly, "if not that, then what bars those splendid lips from curling into a full smile?"