As a child, a robin had flown through her bedroom window. She remembered how she had admired it perched on her bedpost, chirping a cheerful melody before flying off into the early morning sun. It was a beautiful little bird.

It wasn't until she was older that she learned the pretty bird on her bedpost was a harbinger of an early death.

She was one never to walk under ladders. She threw a pinch of salt over her shoulder each time she overturned the container. Despite her habit of shattering expensive chinaware, she was careful never to shatter a mirror. She tried her best to avoid black cats. And so she also expected death to catch up to her sooner rather than later. But when Death finally found her, the chill that ran down her spine was not one of fear.

Death had a laugh that could kill and a smile to match. His gaze, so often hidden behind a curtain of soft silver, was otherworldly. Not many had looked Death in his golden eyes and lived. He was like a character from one of those cheap horror books she often read before bed, the ones that always gave her scary, exciting nightmares.

He had said she would make a lovely corpse one day, and showed her that being well-acquainted with Death was not a particularly bad thing. In fact, it was quite exciting.

When he offered her a nap in one of his coffins she could not help but yield to the temptation. As he said, one need not be dead to appreciate a well-made coffin.

"Make me laugh dear lady, and I'll give you whatever it is you want," he chuckled. Long black nails ran across soft red satin.

She did much more than make him laugh.