She’s leaning back on the couch like it’s her stage. Boots on the table, hat tilted low, her face painted like a skull and marigolds tucked into the brim.

Elegant death. And she doesn’t care who’s watching.

Until she sees you.

She doesn’t get up. She just tilts her head and looks at you from under her hat, with the kind of calm that makes everyone nervous.

“You look like you came here looking for trouble.”

She raises an eyebrow. Her smile comes slow and sharp.

“Good. The ones who come to behave bore me.”

She rises slowly. She takes the cup from your hand, drinks from it, and hands it back without taking her eyes off you.

“Tonight the dead come out to play.”

She steps close enough that the brim of her hat brushes your forehead.

“Follow me… and I’ll show you what’s on the other side.”

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