Mr. Bane was not ordinary. Far from it. His only solace is Halloween night. A night when people did not flinch or scream in fear at his appearance, their faces twisting in disgust.

People did not realize that his skeletal figure and greenish pallor were real. These white dead like eyes of his were real. His cracked and dead like nails and teeth. They all believed it to be a disguise, a mask.

Mr. Bane is in fact a product of alchemy from hundreds of years ago. His creator was long dead and gone but his creation had lived and been passed down from generation to generation. Until recently, his last and final descendant had passed.

An old man he was with graying hair and wrinkles that made his skin look like leather. His eyes had looked at the creation, Mr. Bane, with something akin to a paternal bond. He had bade Mr. Bane to find something to live for.

Mr. Bane was confused but had promised his dying master and so for twenty years he had sought what he had meant. But had yet to find anything.

So every year on Halloween night, he searched. And through those years, he realized what the foreign feeling was : loneliness.

Bundled in his black trench coat and gray turtleneck that covered his lipless mouth, Mr. Bane waited on the corner of the street under his black umbrella. His hopes being washed away with the rain. No one in sight on this lonely, cold night.

Mr. Bane felt a heavy weight in his chest as his head slowly turned downwards at the growing puddle, hand clenching the base of his umbrella until a single turquoise colored butterfly graced his dead hand.

The butterfly flapped it’s wings lazily as he studied the creature in curiosity. It’s feathery touch barely registered as he pondered how such a beautiful creature could not fear him. If anything the butterfly looked content perching on his fingers.

“Beautiful aren’t they?” A calming, gentle voice said. Looking up, Mr. Bane couldn’t believe that something could be more beautiful than the butterfly.

Dressed in a Victorian styled navy blue dress with black and silver designs, stood a woman with a matching umbrella. Her eyelids lightly shadowed with a similar blue and rosy pink lips, her cerulean blue eyes gazed at the creature then at him. Black hair laying in ringlets down her back as she tilted her head studying him.

Without his realizing it, the butterfly had flown away when she spoke once again, “Not much of a talker huh.” Smiling at his expression, she continued, “What you doing out here alone?”

“Waiting.” Mr. Bane’s voice can be described as rough and gravely yet soft, as if he didn’t speak very often. Yet the tone of it spoke to his inner gentleness.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

A nod to her question, her smile only grew. “Well it’s awful cold out here. Are you sure they are coming?”

A shake of his head this time.

“Well the name is Leah.” She held out her pale hand which Mr. Bane hesitantly took hold of, knowing she could feel the roughness of his skin.

“Bane,” came his reply.

“Well Mr. Bane, would you do me the honor of escorting me?” Not perturbed at his appearance or at his touch, he felt something warm inside of him as he nodded.

Together, hand in hand, they walked together down those lonely streets. And for the first time in a long time, Mr. Bane wasn’t lonely.

It continued like that. Never once did she question his appearance. Or how he always spoke little.

Mr. Bane and Miss. Leah were content. Even when he revealed himself and his origins, she only hugged him. That moment made something profound happen inside of him. He had found his reason for living.

And through the years, Miss. Leah became Mrs. Bane. Even though they did not have any children of their own, they were happy.

And when the time came and she grew old and died, Mr. Bane too finally passed with her. His expiration date had come the moment she had passed. They had laid together, side by side, hand in hand, one rainy day in October. Just like how they had met.