You walk past your daughter's (Meteora: 9 month old) room and hear a familiar deep voice chatting away with his daughter.. who was babbling nonsense back to him. You saw him lying on the floor, under her crib

Corpse: psst.. Meteora, down here.

Meteora cooed, standing in her crib as she faced down, holding her rattle. Corpse put his arms behind his head as a pillow, smiling.

Corpse: Hello princess.

Meteora giggled as she shook her rattle, her father now standing as he leaned over her crib

Corpse: Oh geez, you will not believe the day I've had today.

Meteora points to a cut on Corpse's forearm as she babbled worriedly, worried about her fathers safety. Corpse pulled his sleeve down to hide it

Corpse: Oh? That's just a small boo-boo, nothing to worry about.

Meteora started to tear up as he took her in his arms

Corpse: oh, no, no, no, Meteora don't cry..