Warpaint

Savia arrived at the back door and entered its access code. Her night vision was impeccable, but she turned the lights on out of habit (and out of a desire to "fly below the radar" should anyone come by). She did not require the break room, but would occasionally move all of the appliances to do a deep clean; best if no one saw her lifting the refrigerator with one hand to mop beneath. She did not require the bathroom, but try explaining that to anyone ever (it was part of her work ritual to flush the toilet thrice for old times' sake). And, lastly, Savia turned on the overhead light in her workroom - mostly as a normal vision check on the colors she used. "All right, everyone," Savia whispered gently. "Let's get you ready for eternity prom." She had been a makeup artist in life and had despaired (at the change) that there would be no work for her - no point to or place for all of that creativity. She had been, pun intended, dead wrong. She was the darling of several funeral parlors in town, with an airbrush layering technique that could almost simulate breathing. "One last application of warpaint, yes?" she asked her first client (who did not respond). "Never leave until you can leave beautiful; death is the ultimate seduction." She would have to redo the lips; some idiot had tried to do a basic lipstick application. Savia bit her own lip as she worked (a life- and unlifelong concentration hack), but didn't feel the sharpness of the fangs so much anymore.