Tragedies striking was one he was used to seeing, the games of misfortune one so common for the amusement of those up above. Or in this case, one certain person.
Death though, he was more acquainted with; befitting the psychopomp he is. What comes next after death? Often nothing more, just a memory to live on vicariously through the living. And death shall strike the dead a second time, once nobody could no longer carry their memory.
Well, that was one case. A case too common. In the rarer instances, there were spirits. At least, that’s what he assumed for the one before him. Something about them seemed too ethereal to just be a mere person.
“Hello.” He starts off with a plain greet, followed by a smile. “Seems to me you have quite the attachment for the swamp. Good.. or bad, that is.”
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