Pathos listlessly wiped the surface of the bar with a rag. Four o' clock, and the place was deserted. The late afternoon light slanted in through the windows, creating shafts of honey-bright illumination, dust glittering as it filtered through the bars of light. His mind fell into a reverie, blanking out to the world around him as he continued with his automatic task.With the creak of the door on its hinges, Pathos' daydreaming was shattered. He squinted against the light that filled the small room, unable to see more of the figure in the doorway than a silhouette. The person turned and closed the door carefully behind themself, and walked
over to the bar.

As his vision readjusted to the dim light, the figure crossed one of the slanting shafts of light. She looked too young to be in a bar, with straight dark hair falling softly around her face and past her shoulders. The young woman walked carefully over to the bar and, with a minimum of grace, hoisted herself onto one of the tall stools.

"Bit young to be in a bar," Pathos said dryly as she sat. The girl shook her hair out of her face and removed her dark glasses. Her eyes were normal in size and shape, but the honey-colored irises seemed to glow in the dim light. She smiled.

"Not at all, sir," she replied, sliding a small rectangle of plastic across the table. He glanced at the driver's license, then at her. It
did verify her age as twenty-one, though just barely; he didn't really care whether it was faked, but the photographer had perfectly captured her unnerving eyes.

"So. What're you having?" he asked, sliding back the license. She left it on the table, where she glanced at it and then back at him.

"Just some water, and a quiet place," the girl replied. He turned away to fill up a glass from the faucet, and he heard her say, "I might as well know your name, sir."

"Pathos," he said, setting down the glass in front of her. The young man closed his eye for a moment, feeling a bit of deja vu.

"Pathos..." she repeated, seeming to taste the name. "Curious. An aspect of Greek theater, inspiring the outpouring of emotion...you must have had interesting parents, sir."

He flushed, looking away so that his mask was the only part of his face visible. "I...I suppose I did, miss..."

"Melioth," she supplied cheerily. "And it's the name of one of an order of angels that run through heavenly and earthly places. My mother loves angel mythology. Could I have a straw, please?"

He groped for one under the bar and handed it to her. Melioth took the straw and tore off the wrapper, then dropped th plastic tube into the glass. After taking a sip, she began to fold and twist the paper, speaking quietly as she did so.

"I usually don't come into bars...I used to drink a lot at parties, but after I spent four hours throwing up in a fraternity bathroom, I stopped entirely. I know you probably hear enough sob stories in here as is...but I wasn't looking for a sympathetic ear. Just some time in a quiet place away from people who ask too many questions." Pathos had moved to the back of the bar and was cleaning glasses as she spoke, but he was distracted when he felt a tug on the belt of his trenchcoat. He turned around and saw her looking curiously at his face.

"I've already gone into the 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this' routine," she said, in response to his questioning
look. "And I'm sure you've heard this question one too many times. But...the mask? You don't strike me as the type for a fashion statement."

He turned away. "An accident, a long time ago. I was disfigured."

Melioth looked at him, her eyes searching the visible half of his face.

She asked gently, "May I see what's under it?"

Normally that question resulted in Pathos' refusal, or in someone screaming in horror at what the mask hid. But Melioth's voice held only gentle curiosity and warm compassion. With a moment's pause, he reached up and pulled the mask off his face. Pathos looked down, waiting for the scream or the sound of the girl's quick exit. What he wasn't expecting was the small hand tilting his chin upwards, or the steady gaze meeting his eye.

"Aren't you afraid?" he asked, his voice quavering. Pathos flinched as Melioth moved her hand to his right cheek, lightly caressing the jawline of the broken face.

"I think you're beautiful," she answered simply. Melioth stood on the rungs of the stool and leaned across the bar, and kissed him very gently on the lips. He closed his one eye and sagged back against the shelves of glasses and bottles, only noticing the sounds of her exit with an absent detection. Pathos opened his eye and took a deep breath, then reached for his mask on the bar. Resting on top of it were two dollar bills, and a slip of paper. The small piece of thin blue paper bore these words, in a hasty scribble:

"Pathos -Thank you for your confidence, and for a moment of peace. And for the kiss.
- always yours, Melioth."

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