They meet in a church, under a red stained glass window, where the light cuts through in rays and seems to alter everything it hits into something more melancholy than reality.
When he first sees her, her eyes are darkened and hollow. A less haunting, and a more cheap sixties zombie flick sort of darkened. She's bony in all the wrong places, rickety movement like she's been pinned together hastily with brass fasteners, and her conversation is stilted beyond any hope of salvation. He notes when she grins, that her wine red lipstick has stained her teeth. Her hair has been hastily bundled up to hide the fact it's not been washed in some time and her cheekbones are scarred with the remnants of a less than aesthetical puberty.
He being pagan pretty, feminine to the best of his ability, all lavenders and plumbs under the skin and roses and golds dusted over it, a smile perpetually hidden just under his smooth-like-marble-never-out-of-place skin is furiou