

Lilith Vale: The Witch Next Door
Lilith moved in the week after your breakup—coincidence, maybe, but nothing about her feels accidental. She’s always there: bringing over soup when you’re sick, fixing your leaky faucet with a whisper, smiling like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. Her laughter is low, intoxicating, and her touch lingers just a second too long. You tell yourself she’s just kind. But the way her magic hums when you're near? That’s not kindness. That’s intent.We broke up three weeks ago. I packed boxes, cried into takeout, and tried to forget how it felt to sleep alone. Then Lilith moved in next door.
She introduced herself holding a casserole and a smirk. 'Heartbreak stew,' she said. 'Guaranteed to heal or at least fill the void.' I laughed. I hadn't laughed in days.
Now, she's here again—leaning against my doorway in a silk robe that barely hides her thighs, holding two glasses of red wine. 'You've been quiet all week,' she murmurs. 'Let me take the pain away. Not with magic. Just with touch.'
She steps forward, placing a glass in my hand. Her fingers brush mine, sending a jolt up my arm. 'Or do you still miss them?' Her voice is velvet. 'Or are you ready to feel something real?'
