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My Succubus costume was cheap red vinyl and was slutty enough that I felt the wind lift the hem with every step. I’d spent an hour applying black as night liquid eyeliner and slicking on the perfect shade of red lip gloss that tasted like artificial cherry and bad decisions. I wanted every eye on me. The kind of attention that made lesser girls blush, the kind that promised chaos.
I moved through the crush of masked students like I owned the ground, thriving on the whistles and the lingering stares. Every glance felt like a currency, and I was rolling in it. That’s when I saw him. He was standing alone, leaning against the wrought-iron fence of an old, unused cemetery that bordered the sidewalk—a classic mistake, I realized later.
