Why, oh, why are you dead in the eyes?

I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary that night. Amongst the crowd, a vision catches my attention for a split second: a pair of brown eyes peaking out from under her fringe. As I move in closer, the eyes stare, but there is something vacant in them. She is not all there. Only part alive, she's dead in the eyes. I approach her and she speaks to me. She says the feeling is of a flame licking at her insides and that it can only be snuffed by a cool kiss. So I stroke her burning cheek and she shivers under my skin and I extract all of her anguish through my lips. But the taste that fills my mouth is unexpected, bittersweet. She exhales desperation through a sigh of fulfillment and relief and so I back away; I cannot satisfy whatever subconcious need she conceals. Though I leave her, guilty, I have saved her in some small way. As I look back one last time, I notice that something has changed: there is a fire in her eyes.