We all laughed at her in her seamless white gown
As it folded around her on a barstool in a crowded club

She regarded us with the solemn eyes of a brooding child
Her hair curling and twisting down to her waist

Frail opaque hands holding her chin upon the wooden counter
An untouched apple martini right under her nose

Soft opalescent wings unsettled among writhing bodies
Brushing past her crushing her feathers

We called her a fool for walking into a place like this
Ignorant of the taste of desire and the sweetness of alcohol

She glanced at her foreign reflection waving in the red liquid
Her lips moistened as her fingertips sought the chill of the glass

There was no more laughter as we observed her in an anxious silence
Not fully aware of this pinnacle point in time

The first drop of apple seethed into her tongue
Her wings shivered violently and beautifully as they burst into steam

Her unconscious fingers tore the thread around her thighs
The dress now translucent and sensual, clinging to her curves

With the last sip of that poisonous apple her ruby lips curved into a tempting smile
A strange luster came into her hooded eyes as wisdom became her

She had welcomed the forbidden fruit