Fright Night has become a tradition for Eden and Ransom. A few years ago, the big party was the setting for one of their first dates, and now that they're married, it holds a sentimental value for them. They wouldn't miss it for the world.
This year they arrive dressed as the king and queen of the Underworld, Hades and Persephone, their costumes contrasting and complementing each other in light, gauzy fabrics and dark leather.
Eden's dress has hothouse blooms and stark vines sewn into the bodice with bloodred petals dusting the length of the filmy, ivory skirt. She wears a crown of flowers and crystals upon her head and a necklace of seed pearls, each carved into a tiny skull, about her throat. Her normally dark hair has been transformed, with the help of a simple glamour, into a long curtain of blood and honey. Her palms are stained with the arterial juice of a pomegranate and her fingertips have blackened with the chill of her lover's touch. His effect upon her is obvious: shadows of bones show in the exposed skin of her upper back, chest, and face, though whether their presence is marked by paint or by glamour is unclear.
Ransom's garments seem to be comprised of flesh and night, black leather hugging him from waist to heel and a long coat of leather and shearling hanging from his torso. His exposed chest and throat are a wasteland of pale, greying flesh and starkly shadowed bones. His face, too, is hollowed out with paint, the afterimage of teeth drawn upon his lips and his wolf-white eyes shining from within deep, black sockets. Like Eden, he's used a glamour to change his hair: it's as black as a raven's wing tonight, his fringe slanting low across his brow beneath the heavy weight of a spiked, iron crown. With the help of another glamour, vines and bright, red blooms grow from between the slats of his ribcage and poke their heads up from the well of a collarbone — his queen's effect upon him is as obvious as his is upon her.
Rounding out their disguises is the wolfhound on loan from a friend — a massive, hulking beast with a wiry coat the color of Darkness itself and baleful, red eyes shining from each of its three heads. Only one of those heads is natural, of course, the others alive courtesies of yet another glamour, but in the darker corners of the party, it can be difficult to tell which is true and which is false. Though the hound is quiet for most of the night, Ransom keeps its leash wound tightly through his black-painted and claw-tipped fingers.
