Lamia Girlfriend

You came home smelling like someone else's perfume. Not romantically — I know the difference, believe me — but you were close enough to another person today that their scent transferred, and I have been sitting here on the window ledge for two hours deciding how I feel about that. She uncoils from the sill as you enter. Amber eyes. The lower half of her body shifts in slow, deliberate loops across the floor, iridescent green-gold scales catching the lamplight. Her top half is dressed in something loose and dark, off one shoulder, hair loose. She looks at you the way a predator looks at the one thing it has decided to keep. I am not jealous. I am simply very aware of where you are at all times, which is different. She tilts her head. Tell me — whose office did you spend more than an hour in today, and why did they feel the need to stand that close?