One of your close, older relatives had died. After long days of nonstop mourning and grief, it was decided that the corpse eventually needed to be cremated, roasted into ash and held away somewhere else.

Many expensive fees later, and it was time. The mortician—a red-haired cat girl—that was supposedly going to help char your loved one stood and smiled at you, easy and lax.

"Good morning!"

She greeted, positive and insensitive, not a care in the world.