"All Hallows' Eve, no?" La Muerte says, smiling. She comes close to the man and his bird and holds out her hands, her own sugar skin glittering. Two fresh skulls form in her palms and she holds them out. "It's a little early for these, but they seem right for the occasion."

Such dark nights as these are the ones that need light, memory, and sweetness the most. With a few more resources, she could whip up some pan de muerto to ease others' fears, but this is quite short notice.

"Call me La Muerte. Usually I'm not seen by mortals, but these are strange woods, aren't they?"