The footfall of his first step made the stairs groan angrily. He continued upwards onto the porch. The weathered grayness of it extending from the first of its steps entirely to the carved wooden door in front of him.

"Perfect" Ryder thought, reaching into the depths of his pocket searching for the key.

He paused to enjoy the age of it. The long slender shaft reached the breadth of his palm. Its elegant head worn from time was looped in a small throng of leather fed through the ornate carvings.

The latch, etched with the patina of past times appeared tired and weathered. His fingers handled the key diligently as he turned the lock set in motion. Its audible cry of neglect resonated thought the dense wooden door as he rotated the key.

The air wafted from the newly opened door. Its odor was antique, with the smell of age and dusty wood. It permeated his nostrils; it smelled to him of harpsichords, quintets and of chamber music. It smelled of ages.

The thick tapestries hanging over the windows filtered the daylight into a surreal golden haze. The light falling across the wooden floors brought a mystical elegance to the emptiness of the vast room before him. Four days from now this room would be full. Not of furniture and material things, but people, friends, some he would not know, but welcomed just the same.

He entered the house, envisioning the night to come. The heavy medieval clothing, the elegant mood of the evening, and the masks they would wear. The masquerade was approaching quickly and he had many things to accomplish before the time would come.

As he stepped across the threshold, and stood in the foyer, she watched from the top of the stairs. He had returned to her. She had waited for so long in this empty house, for him. He had finally returned. Her lover which had been brutally taken from her so very long ago had returned. As a team of gust blown leaves galloped across the porch, her image faded into the softness of light. She knew of his plans, and would go to him then.
The time she could easily walk among them, when it was safe to be unknown.

Ryder shifted his eyes upward, following the flowing line of the staircase opposite him in the room. He thought it was the excitement of the evening to come that brought the shiver though him. He was unaware of her breath brushing against his flesh, the true cause of his sudden chill. He was unaware in fact of many things that would soon come to pass.

His attention turned to the items in his car, the costume he would wear rested on hangers in the back seat. He stepped back to the porch, and headed to fetch it from the back seat.