They called her Snow Baby. Innocence born in a blizzard, she met the world with white-blonde hair and pale skin. He came to her when she was nine and over time, her hair grew poison-black and her skin burned red. She bleached and scrubbed, but his stains remained.
Then, at sixteen, she held a breadknife to his throat. “Give me your hand.” Sliced deep, blood poured out. “Stay away from me.”
In the morning, they said, “Snow Baby, your hair!”
“That is not my name.” She fingered her crimson locks.
“Lilith—for today I become my own woman.”