Erik was packing his kit when there was a knock at his door.

"Hi! Are you Erik?"

He stood up, taking in the woman in the doorway. "I am. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm new. The managers said you could squeeze me in? I know it's short notice."

"It is," he grumbled. The haunt opened tomorrow and they were still sending him new performers?

He gestured to the empty chair. "Come on in."

She gave him a shy smile that he tried to return. The latex appliances on his face had already been in place for sixteen hours, and his skin was screaming for freedom. Now, it'd be at least another hour before he could leave.

"I'm Christine, by the way."

"Pleasure to meet you," he said as he reopened his kit. "Now, Christine, how did your character die?"

She handed him a sheet of paper. "I don't have one set character, actually. I'm the fill in person if someone is out sick."

Erik read the list of a dozen different character designs and glanced at the clock. "We don't have time to do all of these tonight, so just pick one for now." He started pulling out brushes, mentally drafting a scathing email to management.

"'Waffle Wife '" she read aloud. "'A 1950s housewife with her face marred by a burn from a waffle iron. Threatens guests with breakfast-themed insults.' Who comes up with these?"

"I wish I knew," Erik said. "Is that your pick?"

She nodded and he set to work.

"There's a wireless speaker up there if you want to play music from your phone."

She flicked through her phone's music library. "Any preferences?"

"I don't really care. Just play your regular playlist. None of that sanitized 'I won't play this. He'll think I'm weird' stuff."

The speaker came to life and Carmen filled the room. "Opera? That's a first."

She laughed. "What can I say? I'm an old soul."

"Is that so?" His hand paused a few inches from her face. "Try not to freak out. I need to work on your eye."

"Do what you need to do," she agreed. "Do a lot of people freak out when you do eyes?"

He swiped the eyeliner across her top lid, ending the line with a perfect point. "Most people aren't good at having other people touch their eyes. I'm not good at it myself, in fact." He grinned conspiratorially. "Men are also a lot more difficult in that regard. They like the idea of being these scary monsters, up until I bring a brush near their eyes."

"You have pretty eyes, you know. They're like amber."

He met her gaze as he began work on the "burnt" side of her face, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you. A genetic anomaly, I suppose."

"That's your real eye color? No contacts?"

"Not at all." He began shading her cheek. "Just a few more minutes over here. Then, I'll finish your lips and you'll be all set."

"What? No stuff glued to my face?"

"Maybe for some of these," he gestured to the list. "But there's only so much I can do between time and budget constraints. They don't have the money for face appliances a lot of the time, and certainly not custom ones. They want Hollywood effects on a shoestring budget." He sighed. "It's a good thing I'm clever."

He passed her a hand mirror. "See for yourself."

She smiled at him. "A work of art."

So began their routine of music and makeup every weekend. Erik found her to be his most agreeable subject. And, if he was being honest with himself, he was showing off. The more he stretched his skills, the more commendation he received from Christine. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't inflating his ego a little.

She really was beautiful, he thought. Tonight's look was a demented pixie and he was going to town with gradients of blue glitter. He finished her eyes and moved on to her pliant lips. How would it feel to kiss those lips?

He shook himself. It would never happen. Even disregarding his face, he was just the awkward guy who did her makeup. Surely, she would never be interested in him otherwise.

He handed her the mirror and she grinned at him. "You've outdone yourself again. I can't decide if I like the macabre ones or the pretty ones more." She took a deep breath. "There's something I wanted to ask you. I'm assuming you like creepy stuff since you work at a haunted house? Well, there's this Edgar Allan Poe reading in town on Tuesday. I was thinking of going. Would you want to come?"

"You would want me to come?"

"I wouldn't have asked you otherwise, silly. What do you think? We could maybe consider it a first date?"

The warmth on Erik's cheeks had nothing to do with the latex. "I would love to."

She stood outside the bookshop, a vision in a black lace dress. Erik thought that he had never seen a more beautiful woman, and, amazingly, she was waiting for him.

"You look lovely."

Her eyes swept over his tall frame. "You clean up pretty well yourself. A waistcoat, too!"

He ran a self-conscious hand over the fabric. "I figured, if not for Poe, when else? Do you think it's too much?"

"Of course not. I think you look perfect. Have you done something different with your hair?"

"Yes. I put in effort." She didn't need to know exactly how many hours of wig styling it had taken to get the perfect amount of tousle.

They passed a small coffee bar on the way to the event room. "Can I get you something?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I'm just here for the literature."

"I'm going to get something. Are you sure?"

"Positive. I'll meet you inside."

When he rejoined her, it was with a hot chocolate and a large cookie in hand. "The cookie looked too good to pass up. Can I tempt you?"

She shook her head just as the first speaker walked in.

Erik shrugged and dug into the cookie himself, wondering whether "refuses chocolate" was a deal breaker in a relationship. Halfway through "The Tell-Tale Heart", she slid her hand into his and he decided he didn't care.

"I had a wonderful time," she told him as he spread green paint over her skin.

"As did I."

"Would you want to go out again?"

"I would, if you'll have me. There's a silent horror movie marathon next Thursday night. Live organ music. Do you want to go? We could maybe have dinner beforehand."

"Can I just meet you at the theater?"

"If that's what you'd like, then sure. I'm a little concerned, though. Don't you eat?"

She laughed. "Don't worry. I'm just a very picky eater."

"The season ends on Halloween. I was thinking of having a costume party to celebrate. Would you come?"

Erik pulled back from the scale pattern he was shading across her forehead. "I'm not fond of crowds, but I'd brave it for you."

"And one last makeup for the season? I'm thinking of being a raven."

"I'll bring my kit."

"Fantastic! I'll try to duck out early so you have time to work. What are they going to do? Fire me on the last day of the season?"

Erik pulled into the driveway and his jaw dropped. A picturesque gothic Victorian stood before him. It was a house he'd only seen in his dreams, a dream he could never afford.

He was admiring the carving on the front door when she opened it.

"You don't have to stand on the porch all night. You're allowed to come in."

"This is where you live?"

"Pretty much. My dad came from money."

He followed her into the foyer, a glittering chandelier hanging high over their heads.

"Are you Red Death? I must say, the makeup is very convincing. I almost wish you looked like that full time."

Erik's smile was tight-lipped, the air cool on his uncovered face. "Yes, Madame Giry in costumes helped me out."

"She made my dress, too. I can't wait for you to see it, but we have to get my face on first." Christine led him into a small parlor and sat on a tall chair. "Ready when you are."

There was something both familiar and strange about this night. The dim light of stained glass lamps replaced the fluorescent lights he was used to. Instead of his tiny speaker system, an antique player piano tinkled in the background.

He took his time, gently turning Christine's head to let the lamplight dance in her eyes. He lined them with bold swathes of black before stepping back to admire his work. He rested a hand on her cheek, careful not to disturb his work.

She closed her eyes. "There are few things in this world that I enjoy more than the feeling of your hands. You have the most beautiful hands. Do you know that?"

"Beautiful is not a word that people apply to me."

"Then people are wrong," she said simply. "I could not describe any of the makeup you've done for me, but I could describe in detail how you look as you work. You look as though you've kicked a puppy whenever you make anything scary, but you bite your lip in the most adorable way. And when you make something beautiful, you get this wistful look." She placed her hand on his, holding it to her cheek. "And when you paint my lips, your eyes look so wonderfully warm, just as they do now."

Erik lowered his hand.

"The red lipstick, I think." Her voice was velvet.

"I agree." He traced the curve of her lips with blood red pigment. Tonight, he would find the nerve to claim them, even if it killed him.

He stood back to appreciate the full picture. "You are magnificent."

She smiled at him with those flawless lips and tugged him to the foyer. "Wait here."

Time slowed as he waited, and it froze altogether when she appeared at the top of the stairs. She descended like a queen of shadows and he found that he could barely breathe.

"Let me show you the ballroom."

If he had loved the rest of the house, it was nothing compared to the ballroom. Antique mirrors lined the walls, showing the distorted reflection of another chandelier and an incredible number of candles.

He was grateful for the distortion. Without it, he would have stared bitterly at his unmasked face for the entire night. As it was, he could only see a blot of scarlet from his costume. Beside him, Christine seemed to blend into the reflected shadows.

The piano music transformed into a waltz. Erik felt his arms move around Christine, holding her to him. Surely he was dreaming. This was too perfect to be reality.

The piano fell silent and she gazed up at him. Now was the time. He could feel it.

Ever so slowly, he leaned down to taste those perfect lips. She kissed him back fiercely, and her arms came around his neck.

There was only Christine. Only his arms around her waist, the frantic beating of his heart, and the sudden stab of pain in his neck.

He crumpled in her arms. She lowered him gently to the marble floor, his cape spread below him like a pool of blood. She knew better. The final drops of his blood mingled with the red of her lipstick as his body stilled. She ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"Welcome to eternity, my love."