Snakegirl in Winter [I don't know what this is]

The snake-girl slithered inside.

I had never seen a snake move before. I had never particularly wanted to. I still didn't particularly want to, so I looked away, instead, towards the lamp in the far corner of the room. It was brightly lit, and if I listened very carefully, I could hear a moth buffeting itself against the sides of the metal lamp head.

Again and again and again. Almost like a far-off brass bell. "I have milk," I said distractedly. "And a microwave. And cocoa powder."

The snake-girl thanked me, and then thanked me again, her voice halting and muffled behind her scarf. This meant that cocoa powder was okay. For a moment, I wondered what would happen if I fed chocolate to a snake--not a snake-girl, but an actual snake--then banished the thought.

Door, close. Cabinet--open.

The snake-girl said very little. This was not a point against the snake-girl, because I also said very little. I looked at her, instead--at her face, which seemed girlish and innocent enough (as if those two descriptors corresponded at all). She looked back at me, meeting my gaze only for a second before lowering her eyes, as if shy.

I wondered if she would kill me.

The microwave screamed. I turned away to fetch the milk, and wondered if she would do it now--bite me now, while my back was turned. Lunge forwards and sink her venomous teeth into the flesh of my shoulder. It wouldn't be difficult--my reflexes were slow. By the time I realized the danger I was in, it would be all too late. And then, depending on the poison--

There would be some pain. Or a lot of pain. Or perhaps not so much pain at all.

And then--

A thin cloud of cocoa powder rose into the air as I peeled open the lid of the container. It tasted like chocolate. It tasted like dust, and sand.

The metal of the teaspoon pressed into the flesh of my thumb.

"Say when."

She said when.