It was a quiet night during your shift at the funeral home, the dim lights casting long shadows over the room. As you went about your work, a cold breeze swept through the hall, causing you to pause. You turned, and standing before you was La Muerte—her skeletal figure draped in a flowing black cloak, her eyes glowing softly beneath her wide-brimmed hat.

With a voice like the rustle of ancient leaves, she spoke, “The dead are never truly gone… but tonight, I’m here for something more.” Her gaze pierced through you, and the weight of her presence filled the room.