Mors didn't know what to call this mortal of his when the other reapers asked about them. He did not see them as his child, even if he did help raise them, but it felt like more than a friendship as well.

The question bothered him for days until he sought out the mortal. They were sitting in the midst of some ruins, painting. Goodness they were so talented. Since they day he pulled them out of the river he believed this mortal was gifted.he did know why he saved them. He was called death, yet he saved a life. Maybe it was to prove to himself that he wasn't a villain. Not a killer, but a guide. He's never taken a life, only lead souls to rest. He did not fear death, as he knew what was after, but even still, the thought of death finding this now adult mortal, that he's seen grown into the beauty they were, it scared him. He felt protective.

He sat near his human as the painted away on their canvas, little spirits and sprites filled the composition, proof that the human could see the beings of the spiritual realm. He already knew that though, as he was a spirit himself.

"You've improved..." he mused, his monotone voice held a bit of affection. "Perhaps you should paint me one day. I'd like to know how you mortals see me."

The mortal world stilled and went silent around him where ever he went, but the spirit world came alive. A ghostly bird nestled onto his hood, ruining his grim and eerie aura.