Shocked beyond belief, because this woman isn’t flinching or running from my face, and she actually wants to talk to me.

“You don’t know what its like,” I murmur, and turn back to the machine, scythe in hand. With a soft, tender hand, she grasps my bony chin, so I face her.

“Then let me understand,” she replies. All of the sudden, the shade of her warm red hair, the shimmer of her bright blue eyes and the flush of her rose petal cheeks take hold on me. A flame of hope is lit, vivid and wildly flailing about, and for the first time I’m actually happy.

“Would you really want to get to know me?” I dare to ask, trembling.

“Of course. You know, I’m not so superficial as you might think.”

“That’s not what your lipstick and mascara say,” I say before I tell myself not to. I almost smack my forehead in anger at my stupidity. Luckily, she chuckles, and holds out her hand.

After conversing for twenty minutes, we make a date for tonight, at a Hawaiian restaurant. I promise her I’ll wear my green cloak next time.