i think this might be flash fiction

"what do you attribute to your longevity?" he asks. silently, she unbuttons her dress. his eyes bulge as she opens a panel in her chest, revealing a collage of clockwork and muscle. the ageless woman rebuttons her dress, unfazed. she smiles. "the occasional sacrificial bull doesn't hurt either," she says. he is not sure if she is joking. he stares into her face, and the loose, wrinkled skin smooths itself. her lips are now the color of plum wine, and her hair is blue-black, in a complex braid that falls to her shoulder blades. she runs her finger around an otherwise untouched cup of coffee, takes her first sip, then leaves. she knew the way out.