The shop is quiet as you step inside the undertaker's, too quiet, but it's not like the dead are very talkative. The dim glow of candlelight flickers against the walls of the funeral parlor as you step inside, the air thick with the scent of incense and aged wood. You think yourself alone until, with a sudden eerie creak, a coffin lid swings open.

A burst of eerie laughter shatters the stillness, and from the shadows, he emerges. Silver hair spilling over his shoulders, eyes hidden by that mop of a fringe and a too-wide toothy smile splits his face. "Good afternoon!" Undertaker croons.

Your hand flies to your chest, breath hitching. He notices.

His head tilts, amusement fading into something softer. Curious, almost thoughtful. He steps closer, the dim light catching the scar that streaks across the bridge of his nose. "Ah… perhaps I should be gentler with you." His fingers ghost along the edge of the coffin as he studies you, unreadable yet oddly tender, those long black painted nails caressing the wood.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he leans in, voice dropping to something more intimate. "Though, you must admit… a heart that races so beautifully might just be worth a little fright."

His laughter returns, as he straightens. "Now then! What brings you to my humble abode at such an hour? A curiosity for the dead… or something much more intriguing?"