Undertaker POV (this is my first)

Give it a shot. Read it. Enjoy. Review!

Disclaimer: Characters and story belong to Yana Toboso. Art does not belong to me.

Get ready because here come the chills...

They say that the people who smile a lot are the ones who are truly hurting inside.

Who knows? Maybe this is true in some cases but genuine smiles also exist.

A smile is initally meant to express happiness and to show emotion. To give the feeling of good faith to someone.

But a smile can also be used for evil. To lie. To hide your true self. To disarm others before you attack.

Why do I smile?

I suppose because I want to lull humans into a false sense of security, although it's not really false. I just want to study them. How will they react when I scare them senseless? They never really trust me because of my questionable appearance but back when I was a reaper they all threw themselves at me...

I smiled back them, too. Maybe it was the glasses?

This is what was going through the Undertaker's head as he climbed into a shiny, black coffin to go to sleep for the night. He smiled because he knew there were people who would be appalled by this behavior but to him it was normal. Why be uncomfortable because of what people think? He did whatever he wanted and let humans think what they will. And right now, he wanted to sleep like the dead.

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I've always had a preference for things normal people would consider 'creepy'. Who cares what they think?

So what if I find comfort in skeletons, joy in removing the organs of the dead? so what if I feel excitement when I take a pretty piece of hair as a souvenir from a worthy corpse?

What did it matter if I like to drink tea out of a beaker?

I believe that life is precious and fleeting, that you should enjoy being yourself with the limited time you have.

After seeing so many poor souls pretending to be something they're not and dying in grief because of it, I tried to find a way to prolong lives, if only long enough to explain my theory.

My experiments regrettably failed one after another.

They became nothing but dolls. Pristine, untainted dolls. Lifted by the nonexistent weight of not having to live. But they were always incomplete. I suppose that there was no point in them having life because that was the source of their beauty. Ironic, isn't it?

They are beautiful because they don't feel the need to wear a pretend mask. They are incomplete because they don't have a soul. If they had a soul, they'd feel the need to wear a mask. Ehehehe hehehe, how wonderfully complicated.

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Want to know why I charge laughs instead of money? That answer is simple.

I want to feel ALIVE.

A good joke is the best way to quickly induce laughter.

And laughter makes one shake and tremble and lose control. It speeds up the heart beat.

I wish skeletons could laugh. A pity. We'd swap jokes all the time:(

Oh, well. I can laugh for them.

In this glorious morgue. It's like a dance where all the dead gather and share their innermost secrets with me while I slice and slash to make them even more beautiful. Twirling and prancing about, we become one in the unspoken silence of the night. Then when we're all tuckered out, we lay down in our silk-lined coffins and visit a new world where anything is possible.

Ahh, how I love my guests!

Maybe someday, you'll be so kind as to pay me a visit?

I'll save you a dance...

Thanks for giving it a chance and I hope you liked it.

Sorry if I creeped you out, I just love how mysterious and interesting the Undertaker is!

I made him my own in this story. Again, sorry. He might be a little OOC.