Cold. Death is cold. It's not like you expected it to be warm. It's not surprising. But the Afterlife is nothing like you expected. No pearly white gates. No God. No Saint Peter. Just a garden. And...a woman?

An odd looking woman standing above you, leaning on an umbrella. The smirk she gives you is soft, yet the gleam in her eye tells a different story.

The Scottish accent takes you by surprise. There's a woman who looks like Mary Poppins at the end of life, and she's Scottish. Who would've thought?

"Are you going to stay down there all day, poppet?"