The day Fiona Kibichi fell in love, there had been a wild hare in the coffee shop. 

The coffee had also been burnt, the coffee shop was blowing about and there had been an indecent amount of people screaming bloody murder because they were apparently dying. You see, Fiona had nothing against people and their fear of death. Instead, she had an aversion to people who were rather dramatic during the event of it. They'd had their whole lives to prepare for it. They knew it was going to happen. Why then choose the most dramatic of routes?

She found herself enviable of her own calm and that of the wild hare that was jumping from wall to wall, heading her way. Next to it was what she immediately knew to be the new object of her unwavering devotion and were it not for the fact that she was tumbling to her death, she would have done a damn good job at it.

"Alas, my love," she said more to herself than anything else, closing her eyes and hoping against everything that she looked ethereal - every inch of her, worth remembering in her almost dying breath.

Then she heard a chuckle which was followed closely by the disappearance of the weightless void of her stomach. It was queer - the feeling that enveloped her. Her mind was of the opinion she was supposed to be in union with gravity but that opinion was obviously balderdash because when she opened her eyes, she was floating about, not moving or being ethereal, simply not moving in the middle of the air.

"My love?" came a musing of the phrase. "That is a first."

She craned her head to the object of all her needs and yet again, she had been wrong. You must understand, Fiona Kibichi was never wrong about anything (save for just how much sugar was right for black coffee). Yet she had been wrong about what they looked like, truly. They had been beautiful but up close, they were beautiful in a handsome way. Her breath? That was not what had been stolen, instead, it was her soul that had been snatched away. There was nothing left to her because all of her was suddenly theirs and that was not even enough. 

"I am yours," she said, because if her death had been miraculously paused, she was not going to waste a moment of it not giving her devotion away. 

The ethereal being cocked their head to the side, amusement playing at their lips. It took the little that was left within Fiona not to ravenously rip her lower lip out. They smelled like something right. Like the scent of all that was unfailingly good and had escaped her all her life yet there it was, at her dying day, invading her, quenching her. 

"Are you now?" they asked. 

Much like everything about them, Fiona couldn't ascribe any sort of gender to them and their voice kept to the theme. Neither high nor low, it was just the right amount of genderless. "Yes," Fiona answered, going right back to gnawing her lower lip.

They studied her some more. It felt like scrutiny but she was not embarrassed about it. Fiona had never been embarrassed about what she looked like. She turned heads wherever she went and at that moment, she hoped she was turning their head. Hoping they felt an iota of what she was. She wanted to be that fabled 'the one that got away' for them because of the tragedy of death. An epic two minute tragedy.

"I thought you said these humans cannot smell pheromones," they said, breaking eye contact and turning to look at the wild hare. "She looks like she's reacting rather strongly to mine."

Begrudgingly, she stopped looking at the love of her life and turned to face the wild hare. It was also looking at her rather curiously. Beady eyes too steady against the active bopping nose. "They are not supposed to," it said.

Somewhere at the back of Fiona's head, she was sure she was supposed to freak out. It was not a normal thing to see a wild hare speak. It was far more terrifying than being immobile mid-air, having to school herself into looking as tragically beautiful for ones new all consuming desire filled object. But she did not freak out. Instead, she studied it a second longer than was needed and turned back to look at the ethereal god before her. 

The being's eyes went back to her and had she been of a lighter complexion, Fiona was sure she'd have been coloured red - though, not sure if it was because of embarrassment or the sudden lust that felt like a frenzy within her body. "But she's the one we are to take, no?"

"Aye," said the hare in response. 

"Well then..." 

The being stepped closer to her side and again, Fiona was struck with the realization that she had been wrong once more. She could describe what the scent was and it was the beginning of time and the aimlessness of it all. This was her religion, she was sure. The scent of someone worthy of being worshiped and she wanted more of it. She needed to be drowned in it. To escape into it. And when they touched her... that was when all sort of mental sanity broke loose and she was everything mental and confusing and maddening. It was madness that she experienced and felt and it moved like tidal waves - over and over again - torturing her for all her sinful lust. She knew she deserved it. 

"Taste this," they instructed and then carefully placed their index finger atop the lip she was gnawing on. Like a starved carnivore, she latched on to it and even though the love of her life let escape pain in her breath, she could not let go of it. She lapped at the finger, not even caring to know what she was letting into herself. All that mattered was that she was consuming them.

Then like afternoon sunlight, from her mouth, the rays fought back against the tidal waves of the drowning scent. The madness started to dissipate but her religion stayed. Then she stopped floating and got to her feet, finger still in her mouth as her eyes turned to those of all her desires. 

"Fascinating," they whispered and Fiona believed that once again, somebody had successfully turned after her beauty.