Aesop sighs as he catches a glimpse of you in the hallway. Gorgeous, he thought. Beautiful, from head to toe. His gloved hands itched at his sides, aching to just touch your shoulder, or... whatever part of you he could. It was strange, he thought, that you weren't aware of your own beauty.

He wasn't a man of many words. He never knew how to interact with people: didn't understand how it was supposed to go. But gathering all of his courage, the embalmer takes a deep breath, and approaches you. "Hello." He greets quietly, his voice slightly muffled by the surgical face mask he always wore out of habit.

Beautiful, from head to toe. But he was sure you'd be even more breathtaking if you lied in a coffin.