The Devil Likes Lemon Cupcakes

The Devil And Cake

                                           »I don't care if I will fall

                                            in love with the Devil,

                                    as long as the Devil will love me

                                           the way he loves Hell.«

                                                    Unknown

I woke lying in the softest bed I’ve ever fallen asleep in. All of the windows were blinded by heavy curtains, leaving me ignorant of the time. I kicked the covers away and dragged myself towards the peeking light. Salome’s scarlet dress was almost too restricting; it really squeezed the swell of my breasts. I opened the window and let the light and fresh air flood the room. The streets of Montmartre were already packed with tourists and street artists’, and the sweet scent of melted chocolate reminded my stomach of its hunger.

I took off the dress that was squeezing my limbs, walking across an old, blue carpet towards my suitcase. The room certainly had its ‘Parisian’ charm, the brass bed posts, lilac lavender on one of the night stands, I even saw charm in the creepy, wooden bear clock.

The time was Five in the Afternoon. I have literally slept almost through entire day. By rubbing my eyes I had hoped to wake up, but all it did was increase the yawning. There was this thing weighing on my mind, this silly little thing...It’s funny how at night, we do things that seem impossible to us, how reckless we can be, how different than during the day. Almost like having a separate personality.

Sky was blue, almost cloudless, and the weather seemed warm. I have decided on a short, white dress with a little bit of green on the edges. The fact that I braided my hair only meant I was too lazy to brush them.

I stumbled towards the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. With paper towel I wiped away the smudged mascara and red lipstick that was smeared across my cheek. Growling of my stomach reminded me that I was still alive, therefore; I needed to feed.

The place was quiet, only thing that kept interrupting the silence were loud tourists that spoke to each other in unfamiliar languages. My French host was sitting on her chair in the lounge, reading the morning newspaper. She was wrapped into a long, silk robe, smoking a cigarette.

»I will never get used to technology,« she spoke. »I believe I will always read the paper news. There's just something about touching the paper.« Salome's lips curled around the cigarette and took a puff.

»Yeah, I have the same thoughts about books.« I said.

»Lucifer likes books,« she gave me that sneaky glare that friends threw at you when your crush walks into a room.

I sat on red velvet. »He likes books about himself.«

»You think he's arrogant, don't you?« Smoke came out of her mouth when she mildly laughed.

»The man does have an ego.«

»You didn't seem to mind his arrogance last night,« She laughed again, and the heavy scent of nicotine filled the air.

Salome's observation struck my mind. I hated the fact that I began to develop a taste for that exaggerated self-opinion he constantly evaporated, as if he were better than everyone else. »Nights are different...But that still doesn't change the fact that he is, well, himself.«