Well, this chapter's certainly shorter than the last one. I have a tendency to start off and end stories long, but everything in the middle is kinda short. Thank you, RagtimeGrenny, for being the first to review! I took your advice accordingly. The first chapter's edited, and I might be adding some stuff to it just to add to the style of the writing.

I have to warn you, the first arc here is of my own creation and a little... weird. Things might get a little mary-sue-ish in this bit but hopefully not too much. I know exactly where I'm going with this story, and after a bumpy beginning, it'll be nothing but smooth riding after that. I hope.

This aside, I don't know whether to update this story once or twice a month... I have a rather large buffer built up, but I'm not sure if I can keep up my writing speed or not. Do people even want to read that much that often?

It is night time now. Most of London has fallen asleep and with fewer humans milling about, the girl guesses that perhaps it is safe enough to walk openly in the streets. Still, even as she slips into the shadows and evades the sight of everyone in the immediate radius, Eve is still wary and alert; every step is tense as they are carefully taken upon the cobbled stone.

She has made two mistakes today, the first of which is walking in the town in daylight when she should have picked up the fact that she stood out, and the second being that she had let herself be seen, both by a demon she should not have approached in the first place (Note: never attack unless provoked first.) and by a stranger who is still alive, something she may or may not pay dearly for later.

Alright. Eve says to herself, as she jumps from a rooftop situated where she hopes is far away enough from where she had met Ronald that the boy can no longer follow her. That was not the best choice I have ever made. She is slightly aggravated; first Undertaker, and now that boy. Despite being able to elude him without using her wings, having only started to form them before retracting them, Eve swore that she had left behind some feathers. Was not she supposed to be the stealthy one? Perhaps next time I should kill any witnesses. Or would that attract attention? Or not?

...

Huh, I must be getting tired. And with that person possibly still on the streets tonight, I should go back soon.

…..

"Ke. Seems like you didn't have a very happy day, my lady." Undertaker twirls a bone cookie between his absurdly elongated fingers, deftly spinning the treat in circles before popping the end into his mouth and snapping the end off with a flourish of teeth.

"A day cannot be described as happy." Corrects the girl, before blowing on her tea (only out of habit; she has long since ceased worrying about being burned by anything) and sipping nonchalantly. "But if you are asking how productive I managed to be today, the answer is 'not very much', I am afraid. I will have to pay off my debt later than expected."

"Tee hee." The mortician chuckles, somehow amused by her actions, possibly by how seriously the girl is acting while surrounded by various corpses dressed to the nines and seated on other wooden caskets with sets of tea and cookies on their laps. (The two of them are currently seated in their own coffins, along with about seven others arranged to face in a circle. Eve is attending a macabre tea party at Undertaker's request, and, being her landlord at the moment, she does not find it an intelligent choice to refuse to indulge him.) "But you do realize my debt cannot be paid in the queen's coin, do you?"

The cold, loose expression on Eve's face solidifies slightly into chagrin and annoyance. "Yes, I do. But laughter is not something I have in great abundance. Unless something unprecedented occurs, such as me obtaining a sense of humor, I will have to wait until I can find some source of jokes, and most likely that will cost some kind of currency." She is about to blow another puff of vaporized liquid away, but stops herself and simply continues sipping the still-hot tea, while eyeing the mortician as he offers a biscuit to a lady seated beside him, head bobbing up and down because of the prodding. "Unless whoever is controlling said source also happens to demand some kind of absurd payment. But I doubt this."

One of the dead bodies, a young blond man who could have been described as 'dapper' in his suit... if it were not for the hoof-marks marring his face, (Undertaker must have yet to get around to applying make-up to this particular corpse), becomes imbalanced and falls in Eve's direction, who then forces the corpse backwards with a flick of her finger. "On the subject of business, what makes you think your customers approve of the treatment of your guests?" The girl accuses haughtily, now pointing her finger at the mortician. "I certainly hope I was not coerced into anything like this while I was… dead." She almost uses the phrase 'out of commission', but decides against trying to make what had happened to her look like anything else. She had been dead, and there is no way around the fact.

Cackles rise into the air and bounce off of the walls as Undertaker holds his stomach to contain his mirth to no avail. "Hahahahahehe! What they don't know won't hurt them, my ladyyyyy!" He giggles hysterically, and Eve wonders whether, not to mention sorely wishes, there are any insane asylums in the area that accept constantly laughing morticians that think they can talk to the dead.

"And there's no need to worry about that, either," He adds with a sly grin hidden behind his sleeve, referring to Eve's second point, chuckling between his words. "You happen to be attending the first party I've hosted in ages."

It occurs to Eve that Undertaker had arranged this 'party' with the mere purpose of goading her, but, a great deal more nonplussed than she should be, the only reaction she displays is the brief deepening of one brow, (also known as an eyebrow twitch,) as she continues sipping her tea.

The laughing man watches her do this and, upon seeing this, his chuckles subside, along with his smile, until his face sags down into an unamused, almost sad, frown. "Ehhhhh, you're being no fun at allll." He scoffs, reaching to poke Eve with a finger. "What will it take to get a laugh out of you?"

"More than that, I know for sure." Is all Eve answers with. The girl is unable to be any more specific than that because she is not sure herself what would make her laugh. In fact, she does not even know what can make her smile anymore. How long has it been since she had done so?

There is a double knock on the door, rapt and curt, and while quiet, it is loud enough to draw the attention of the two (living) occupants of the building. "It is rather late for a customer to come, is it not?" Eve remarks, her eyes narrowing at the door as if they can see straight through to the person standing behind it.

Undertaker, in response, puts a finger to his mouth, silently miming a "Shhhh." as an unspoken signal to be quiet. He lifts himself out of his casket, the one closest to the door, and heaves it back up to its original position, propped against a wall. Then, striding over to the girl, he puts a hand on her shoulder, his nails digging slightly into Eve's skin, and suddenly smiles a frightening smile.

Eve is almost scared. "What are you-"

The girl is cut off when, with surprising force, she is shoved backwards into the sea of red velvet and closed in on by a matching door, which swings closed with a solid, definite, thud.

There is a soft thump that soon follows after, along with returning giggles. Giving a testing push in front of her, Eve discovers with great annoyance that Undertaker has sat on the coffin, and by extension on her, and that she cannot. Get. Out.

"!"

Whoever had knocked has entered now, with strict, constant steps that Eve can hear clearly, despite the layers of fabric and wood shutting her away from the outside world… or rather, the inside of the Undertaker's shop. "Oh, it's just you, Willy." This, she realizes, is Undertaker speaking, having switched his tone like a swing from wickedly amused to sorely disappointed. She can listen in on the conversation well enough; despite the muffled quality and the panic she feels slowly creeping into her brain, the words come to her ears quite clearly.

"Hello, sir. I am sorry to bother you." A pause. The customer, if he is one, talks like Eve does, in a clipped, short, and formal way. "But there has been a disturbance, and I have some questions for you."

"Ah, hurry along with it then. My guests are all getting impatient." That is a lie; his guests are dead, save for Eve, who this 'Willy' does not know about, and are therefore incapable of feeling impatient. Already, the girl knows what Undertaker does not like this person. "This won't be another thinly veiled attempt at getting me to come out of retirement, is it?"

"No, sir; I am simply wondering if you have seen someone in the area. Black and red hair, gold eyes, and standing at about five and a half feet tall." Ailliam lists off the slightly inaccurate attributes in a monotone, terse, voice. "Have you seen anyone with these qualities?"

My eyes are light brown. Eve thinks, a little indignant. Light. Brown.

"And what if I have? Is she one of yours?" More hostility.

"…no."

"Then what business would you have with this person? Can you tell me that?"

There is a nervous cough. "As far-fetched as the idea is, the association has reason to believe she is not of this world." Another pause. Eve's fingers are starting to twitch and her breathing feels somewhat irregular, she notes, as she glares down at her hands, despite not being able to see them. If she does not know better, she would have thought she is starting to develop claustrophobia. Still, it is incredibly unpleasant being trapped in the casket as she is however soft the lining may be. "Rather, from a pocket dimension that was created by the Death God Association millennia ago."

The girl freezes, an ironic motion for a commander of fire. What information do these gods have on her, the place she had come from? "From interviews conducted with previous escapees- that were cut from their cinematic record, of course- we learned that some humans developed unnatural abilities, but lost them soon after leaving their dimension of origin."

Distortion.So, when anyone switches dimensions, they lose their ability to perform magic.

But because I can still use it, they are after me...

"However, from a report given by a reaper who happened to see her, it has been confirmed that she is one of the few who have not done so, for whatever reason."

(The result of the magic you posses-) So it was a mistake to let that person see me.

I should have killed that boy when I had the chance.

Eve's hands are now pushing against the lid, but try as she might, she cannot seem to be able to move it in the slightest. Undertaker is much heavier than he appears to be, under the loose robes that serve as his usual garb. Frustrated, the phoenix reincarnation snarls silently and grips the soft lining of the door above her all the tighter, and can sense the fabric warming to her touch.

"As a result, because of a shortage in the other departments, I have been ordered to find this person and dispose of the threat, before her presence disrupts the business of the reaper association. Like a demon, she is considered too dangerous and unpredictable to consider allying with."

At this, Undertaker feels the wood seat underneath him heat up quickly, and oddly enough, start to buck upwards as hot air expands from inside and forces its way out like smoke billowing out of a burning house. "Hmm?" He hums curiously, bending over to look at the casket underneath him. "Oh dear." The lid is about to explode, and the mortician he finds himself jumping out of the way as if he had been sitting on a boiling kettle.

The coffin door swings upward, defined darker marks in the lining in the shape of hands where the velvet had been scorched by pure heat. Eve sits up. She is not happy.

"If anyone has a request to attempt to kill me," She says coldly, whipping out several knives from her sleeves and wielding the blades between her fist-clenched fingers. "Then they should speak to me directly. How sir, may I help you?"

One glaring expression looks at the other, both parties not moving first, but refusing to back down as well. The tension rises as Eve and 'Willy' prepare for anything to happen.

"Oh, you ruined the surprise, my lady! And messed up one of my coffins, too."

Sigh.

Except that.

…..

For no reasons she has a hope of explaining, Eve, along with William, (whose full name she learned after a very, very, strained introduction via the funeral director,) are continuing the tea party that had been 'so rudely interrupted by Willy', as Undertaker had put it.

"So," she starts off the conversation, with her eyes closed as she refuses to meet William's eyes. "Exactly what, if I may ask, is the problem with my existence?" Her tone is hostile, obviously not appreciative of being sentenced to death a second time. Both she and the reaper in front of her leave their complimentary food and drink untouched.

Meanwhile, Undertaker pretends that neither she nor William exist and offers tea to a guest on his right he had earlier dubbed 'Betty.'

(No. Reasons.)

William, not having the audacity to shoot her a disapproving look in front of Undertaker, who Eve assumes he apparently idolizes in some way, simply coughs and adjusts his glasses with the strangely bladed spear he is toting before answering. "It is not so much that the death gods automatically assume that you are a threat to us because of what we know about you, but rather, what we do not." He explains. "There is no guarantee that you will not go insane, or wreak havoc against us, like a demon." The comparison causes Eve to bristle at the accusation; she does not enjoy being compared to monsters no better than vampires, either. "However, as you are not really a demon, and because the association has been short on staff for quite a while, you have been given two options."

"… what are they?"

"The first is to be killed."

They do not know I am immortal. Eve realizes. Her body language conveys nothing, staying as still a statue, while her mind races to draw conclusions. But if the death gods really govern over everyone that dies, then their numbers must be enormous, staff shortage or not. If they find this out, what would they do? Certainly not let me go… they would keep me locked up. The prospect repulses her immensely. I could escape, but they would simply kill me every time. That would hurt. She would not like that.

"The second is to be converted into a reaper."

She looks up suddenly, and in the darkening light, the brown of her irises appear a shade closer to yellow as they glow with the light of a flickering candle, reflecting it from one of the wax pillars burning dutifully in the shop. "What does that entail?"

"Your soul will be extracted and you will be turned into a god of death. You will lose your memories and start your life over as a grim reaper-in-training. As a death god, your job will be to retrieve souls due to die and serve the association. Whatever you choose, you will not be able to use your brand of magic again."

"Will I be paid?"

"Yes, enough for sundry expenses, board, and recreational purposes."

"How long do I have to decide?"

"A maximum of three days."

There is a stall in the conversation. "And what if I refuse both options?" This answer is quieter than the others, almost a whisper.

William's spear shoots out and reaches across the distance between him and Eve, extending farther than she had thought would be possible. The red blade targets her throat, snapping open and closed, and the girl leans left and avoids it. However, the weapon rebounds faster than she expects and she can only attempt to slap it away as it dives for her a second time. The spear pins her hand to the wall, but the pain Eve flinches for and anticipates does not come. It does not hurt? She can feel blood as it trickles down her arm, and the rough texture of the wall against the skin on the back of her hand, but nothing else. In spite of this, Eve is still at a disadvantage, having lost the use of one of her arms.

The glasses on the death god's face flash dangerously. "Then I will reap you." Comes the freezing answer as the blades around her fingers squeeze tighter and the red liquid flows more freely.

"Nnh." Eve grunts, but says nothing.

"Now, now, William! Let's not be too hasty!" Undertaker, who has for the last few minutes been chewing away from his self-made biscuits with an extremely bored expression on his face, chastises William as he wraps his fingers around the shaft of the spear, as a motion to the reaper to remove it. "She hasn't said anything about the matter yet. You'll give her the three days you mentioned, won't you?" There is authority in his voice that Eve has never heard before; all of the traces of his usually happy cheer gone, and it is makes him sound much more menacing than the girl has ever heard him sound. The mortician is still smiling, though the grin is now much more threatening than normal, piercing straight through William's formal façade.

"...Of course." The spear retracts and Eve looks at her hand. She still cannot feel any pain, only a tingling that substitutes it. What is this? Without seeming to knowing it, she lifts the hand to her mouth and cleans it, licking the blood away. Later on, she will realize what she is doing and wonder what had compelled her to do such (with quite of bit of gagging on her part and giggling on Undertaker's), but for now she is more intent on preventing her wound from becoming infected.

"Very well then." William is speaking again. He gives two nods, one to Eve, and a deeper one to Undertaker, (who duly ignores him), before hoisting himself out of the coffin and bowing, this time only once in the direction of the mortician (who continues denying his existence). "I will return in three days, then."

And so he departs, and Eve is left with nothing but a wound to nurse and the bitter taste of metallic ashes in her mouth.

…..

"So, my lady?" Undertaker asks Eve, as he glides over to the opposite side of the shop, to his desk, and shuffles around the various objects sitting on the shelves. He is looking for something.

"So what?" Eve, who is still sitting in a coffin, considering there is no better place to sit, is carefully holding her hand, wondering how to prevent breaking the torn skin further. Perhaps she will ask to borrow bandages from the mortician. Do funeral directors stock bandages?

"You'll have to make your choice soon, won't you? Now where did I put it again... Ah hah!" Apparently finding what he is looking for, Undertaker pulls out the object with a flourish and spins on his heel to face the girl. Eve sees a sliver of shine in the candlelight, outlining a needle and thread. "Three days, that's not a long time at all. So, what are you going to pick? Become a death god? Or try your hand at playing a fugitive?" As he says this, the mortician kneels by the girl's seat and takes her hand, holding the needle up to the torn flesh.

"Ah-" Realizing what Undertaker intends to do, Eve speaks up and tries to stop him, as the close physical contact between the two causes her to become restless. "There's no need for you to do that. I can-"

"No, no, I insist." Undertaker does not let go, and if anything, his finger's close all the tighter over Eve's. The touch is still gentle, yet somehow not. "After all, you are a guest, and sewing them up happens to be my job."

"…alright." The girl complies, and relaxes slightly as the lacerations on her hands are bit by bit closed by Undertaker' sewing. She does not wince, despite the needle weaving through her skin.

Undertaker notices this, and smiles in an intrigued way as he finishes up and turns over the appendage as if examining it. "Took that rather bravely, didn't you?"

"No. The wound is not so serious. Even so, I cannot feel anything."

"Oh? And yet, last time I checked, death scythe wounds hurt more than most."

"Do they really?" It is suspicious, the fact that the mortician knows so much about demons and death gods, despite not betraying signs of being anything other than human.

(I'm an information broker, after all~)

"There is definitely something abnormal happening with me, then."

"Like what?"

"How would I be aware of that? All I know is that I cannot feel pain or emotions like I did before. Everything is cold and heavy. Wrong."

"Wrong, indeed." Undertaker breathes. There is a flash of his eyes and in them is a spark that can usually be called amusement or mirth, but this time, seems like curiosity. "This would all go away should you choose to become a death god, though, wouldn't it? Your very being would be turned into something else. Made to judge the souls of the dead, day after day…"

"It would." Eve agrees. "Choosing to do so would certainly provide me with a more stable way of living. They offer pay, and board. It would give me a place to stay. But…"

"But what?"

The girl draws her hand away, looking at the mortician's newest handy work, and flexing her hand to ensure that no bones were broken or ligaments were torn.

"If I accept, I will lose my memories."

And despite how unpleasant some may be, I have reasons to hold on to them.

"The person I have become and the things I learned… where would they go? I would have to start my life over completely."

Relive each hardship anew.

"That is not something I want."

"So will you run?" For the briefest moment, Undertaker's face is so close to Eve's that she can breathe out and blow away his bangs if she wants, until the funeral director moves away to flop himself on his macabre, and only chair, leaning back to balance on its two back legs. He reaches for a skull that had been placed on the desk, and spins it up in the air. Catching it firmly, he holds it out in the girl's direction so the image of the skull is directly eclipsing her face. "Try your hand at luck and see if you can outrun death? I have an aaaaawwwwful lot of information that could help- but it would cost you, heh."

Closing her eyes, the phoenix considers the probability of succeeding. "No. If they really govern the process of death for everyone, then there are too many of them- and I have terrible luck aside."

The amount of light lessens, and Eve turns her head to see one of the candles has been extinguished, the remains of the wax emitting smoke that curls into the air like unraveling feathers. There are five stunted wax pillars still burning, but the way the remaining flames flicker and sway tell Eve that they, too, will soon die out.

Another light fades away and somehow reminds Eve of something. Four candles. "I am tired." She means the statement in more than one way.

"Well, there are plenty of coffins about." Undertaker responds helpfully, seemingly only catching the surface meaning of her words. Another candle runs out of fuel. Three left.

The girl raises an eyebrow. "You own no bed?" Two left; the third last candle has burned out.

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't." The coffin-maker exclaims gleefully, crossing his legs and throwing them onto the surface of his desk. "But that's information, and you know what that costs~!" He ends up knocking off candle off of its station, and its flame dies as it hits the ground.

"Humph." Eve picks up a candlestick and eyes it warily. "Then I will just go to sleep." She does not want to sink into any further debt, regardless of the kind of payment it is. "I am tired."

She sighs heavily, and her breath is enough to push the very last blaze out of existence.

My life or my freedom...

...

Three days later…

Another day passes, and another wasted attempt of getting any kind of income goes with it. It is far more difficult than Eve thinks to find employment.

For one thing, no one running a respectable business will hire her. The moment she ever enters a shop, Eve is instantly met with very unfriendly reactions, not limited to angry and blustering men turning red and shouting at her and asking where her non-existent chaperone is, having various things thrown in her direction (which she had dodged with ease, but that is besides the point), and threats to send her 'back to her own God damn country', which would be quite humorous if Eve did not have such a bleak perspective on life. Most of these things, she admits, are probably owing to the fact she is wearing trousers. And has multi-colored hair. And has absolutely no resume to speak of that does not involve magic and other seemingly impossible things she can be sent to an asylum for talking about as if they are real. (Which they are, but again, that is not the point.)

(Perhaps it is just the fact that she cannot interact well enough with people to explain herself. Whether it is the odd stares she is constantly getting or the notes of suspicion and contempt from people, any time she spends in a building is promptly ended when she is over whelmed with the compulsion to get out of wherever she is.)

For another, the girl cannot even seem to find any occupation involving more shady and untrustworthy operations, either. (Despite her dwindling moral code, Eve had been reluctant to attempt finding a job in this area of expertise, despite her higher probability of succeeding, but in the end she had decided her life is more valuable to her than her ethnics. Still, she is unsure whether or not to regret failing.)

Stumbling into an opium den had cause Eve to sneeze profusely, and it was there that she had learned two things, much to her misfortune: that opium is a highly flammable drug, and that sneezing causes fire to sprout out of her nose. Needless to say, she had ended that night on a rather burnt out note.

And then she had tried finding work as an assassin for the Italian (which is a word to describe things and people that come from a country named 'Italy', Eve had learned) mafia, more specifically a family referring to themselves as the Ferros. Unfortunately, after accidentally provoking the person who had been in charge, the girl had ended up being attacked by the whole lot and later had ended up slaughtering them all. That encounter had not ended very well, either.

And after that, someone had promised Eve a job with a high pay and easy tasks to do, only to lead her somewhere that she will later find out from a hysterically laughing Undertaker is commonly named a 'brothel'.

At this point Eve had given up, because she even for her, she had killed too many people for her liking for two days.

I cannot believe my own incompetence. Eve pulls that her hair. This should be so much easier than I have been making it.

It is this apparent inability to support herself that further pushes her to make a decision, the one that had been imposed on her from three days ago. It obviously looks like the most attractive option… for the time being. I simply do not fit into this place.

And yet she does not want to be turned into someone else.

She does not want to have to bear every bad thing that has happened to her all over again.

She does not want to be so easy to hurt again.

Is it cannot or will not or should not? Why is it so hard to decide?

Left, right, right. Her thoughts shift over to her route back to Undertaker's as she sees that night is falling, for the fourth time since she had come to England. I am here.

"Undertaker, I am back." Eve closes the door behind her back and clicks the closing mechanism without looking. "Hello, Mr. Spears." Seeing the reaper already inside, even though it has not yet been exactly thirty-six hours since he had last visited, takes her aback, but the girl does not skip a beat and greets the man anyways with a tilt of her head. It never helps to be polite, no matter who she is talking to. (Although this rule can, and will be thrown out of the window if said person makes an attempt on her life.) "I trust you have come to hear my decision?"

Standing up from his seat on a coffin, William turns to Eve and answers, "Yes." as he re-adjusts his spectacles. "Please be out with it quickly; this duty is bordering on overtime." More to himself than anyone in the room, he mutters under his breath, "Honestly… to have me deal with an irregularity is simply the worst. This business should be for the General Affairs department."

"You did say that the association was short on staff." Eve decides to remind him not-so helpfully.

"I did." William's words are a tad more clipped now; having found that the girl can hear him, no matter how quietly he talks, the reaper seems to be irritated, though Eve is not too sure why. "Now, what is your decision? Will you agree to be turned into a death god? Yes or no?"

If I refuse, I lose my life.

If I agree, I lose myself.

Eve inhales a deep breath, closes her eyes, and says, "No."

That spear of his is stretching itself out again, travelling in a beeline for Eve's throat again, but this time she is ready and knows exactly what to do now. She runs straight towards the blades, but instead of letting herself get cut, the girl dodges them by a hair and keeps going towards the weapon's user.

Four things happen in the same instant. The first is that Eve stops at arms' length in front of William and snaps her left arm, using the momentum to summon her scythe and hold it by the handle that protrudes out of its shaft, against the reaper's throat. The second event is that her right hand reaches backwards and grabs the shaft of the spear, so even if it were to retract, it would no longer be able to cut her. The third is an act of William, who takes a step back and stiffens, but cannot make any move other than pull on his spear, because his one method of attack is compromised and the sight of the suddenly materializing weapon gives him second guesses about how lethal this non-death scythe thing can be.

And the fourth?

The fourth thing is simply Undertaker giggling behind his sleeve, his previous bored expression evaporating to give way to amusement. "And now things are getting fun." He snickers.

"At least, let me explain, before jumping to conclusions." Eve says this through grit teeth, fighting to keep her current position as she and the reaper play tug-of-war.

She is not the only one struggling, however, as when William answers, "…fine." His voice is equally strained. There is a snap as she lets go and puts down her scythe, resting it at her side. "You have thirty seconds." He states.

"I said I would not agree to being turned into a death god." Eve starts to say. "However, I have a proposal for a compromise we may both be satisfied with."

The reaper frowns even more so than usual; his brows knit deeper together and his grip on his spear tightening just a fraction, but he does not stop the girl, so she continues. "Let me work for you. The reapers are short on staff and I do not wish to have my memories wiped. I already have experience in judging, fighting, and execution. It would not be difficult for me to quickly learn how to work as one of you. I can still be watched as an employee, and even so I assure you I have no reason to revolt against the association."

"You probably do not trust me words, but… In an environment in which I am completely surrounded by death gods, there is no way for me to do anything against the rules without being instantly caught. By the time I have finished any training that is required, I should have earned enough trust to be able to operate on my own."

William's eyes, and now that she looks closer at them, Eve can see they are quite similar in coloring to Ronald's something she takes note of, shift to Undertaker, who taps his nose in an obscure, knowing way that is enough to make him pull his lips back in a begrudged scowl and say, "That will be fine, then. Someone will come here to fetch you tomorrow morning."

And this is how Eve has come to work for the reapers.

And that's the end of the prologue! I don't think I'll be writing any other original arcs, I promise, but this one is necessarily to tie up loose ends from the prequel (which OH GOOOOODDDSSS DID I MENTION WAS BAD-)

Now enjoy your other odd Undertaker stories.

Hey, is Undertaker your favorite character? He's mine. Looooovvvee how he trolls everyone.