Pale long black nailed fingers pushed silver hair away from green and yellow eyes, it has been awhile since the incident that had thrust him into parenthood. He did not mind one bit, it was refreshing from time to time to have a living guest. That living guest, a small girl named Shellobeth, was currently in another room, curled up in bed more then likely asleep or if she was awake nursing the fresh burns on her arms. The burns in question were the results of a fire that had first brought the two together. A story that for the sake of Shellobeth was never spoken of.

A soft shiver was heard coming from the other room caused the reaper to look up from the corpse he was currently working on and glance over at the open door. It was empty, and for the past hour it seemed as though it would remain empty. Turning back to his work, another small sound interrupted it yet again.

"S-sir?" A small, horse voice cut through the silence of the room.

He looked up again and saw the child currently at thought. She was a thin one, with skin bright red in color though by now most of the red was replaced with pale white as it slowly scabbed over and peeled off. What ever was left of her once blonde hair, now singed black from flames had been tied back in a rather odd bun at the top of her head. Shellobeth's once blue eyes, as she had told him they were that color for some reason were not as red as her skin. In an odd sense, she almost looked like a red skeleton wearing an oversized black dress.

"What is it dear?" He asked, slowly returning to the body in front of him.

She slowly took a step into the room, wincing slightly as the cold tile touched her foot.

"I-i-i just had a question..." She folded her arms behind her back and looked up slowly. "Today in the shop. What was it the owner had called me?"

She sounded confused and a bit scared.

"My daughter." He responded, still at work.

She took three quick steps over to him and peered over the table. Her face held the same confusion as her voice had. After a few moments of silence she sighed again.

"It was only a silly mistake of his." She uttered softly, reaching up to rub her head.

"Do you know what adoption is Shellobeth?" He asked, looking slowly up at her.

"N-no I don't believe so." She said softly, playing with the hem of her shirt. "Is it a good thing?"

"Well that all depends..." He took a breath and then turned to face her fully. "Do you like being here Shelly?"

The child gasped as then was silent as she thought it over. Did she like it here? Well, she did enjoy the company of the older man, and after her parents abandoned her, she hadn't really had a family for quite a while.

"Yes. I do enjoy living here. So may I assume that adoption is a good thing?" She asked boldly, leaning all her weight on her leg that was less burnt than the other.

"You may." The silver-haired man chuckled as he picked up the little girl and placed her on the stool next to the metal table. "Now how about papa shows you how he prepares a body for a funeral, hm?"

Shellobeth giggled and folded her legs under her and leaned in a bit closer, her skin suddenly seeming more grayish pale than red.

"Sounds fun!" She giggled but then slowly began to fade away to black...

"What an odd dream." Was the first thing out of the red-head's lips when perfectly shaped, almond eyes fluttered open that night.

It hadn't been the first dream that was like that, but ever since the incident at the funeral, those two were almost constantly at mind.

"Those dreams always seem so lonely when its just those two-" There was a pause, and a new thought soon began to take shape.

There was always a third person in those dreams, but who was it? The body the two were working on. The body that seemed to bind the two as family in each dream.

"Is it possible..." Another pause, as eyes soon searched for any piece that contained the time and soon landed on a grandfather clock reading '8:00' sharp. "The morgue is bound to be opened by now... I'm sure a visit wouldn't do much harm."

The dream was soon thought over again and yet another thought took its form in the crimson-haired mind.

Red.

That was always a present factor in each dream as well. The child would either be red in the skin, or the body on the table would be draped in a red blanket, or at one point, their fingernails were red (Note: Both Crevan's have black nails), but why red? Why did they always act like they did not know each other until red coloring would come into the dream? She referred to him as 'sir' for crying out loud!

"It could be symbolic..." The voice whispered as red nails began to comb through red hair and a sigh escaped red painted lips. "But of what... Perhaps the one at the funeral... Or me even..."

A soft blush painted cheeks as the figure slowly got out of bed and began to dress with the intentions of visiting the family commonly draped in black. What an odd and yet somehow perfect mix those two colors seemed to be now, just as they had in all the past dreams.

"Black and red, Ash and blood. What an odd little mix that all spells death... But then again, with death brings life. And with a mother, brings up a child." A frown soon replaced the smile as a jacket was finally thrown on. "It seems I am playing match maker with myself..."