♜ one [ writing ]

[deathsought]

I have a question for everyone here.

We're supposed to go sailing, but how does someone willingly go on a ship with so many different people, when doing so could put the people in your crew at risk? How do you live so closely with that many other people when just being near them could be dangerous for them?

[ The penmanship looks really old-fashioned, but still perfectly legible. It's clear this person hasn't seen anything written in a long time, but thankfully, writing is like riding a bicycle. It's not something anyone forgets how to do. There's SOME voices in the background, but it's distant and muffled. Whoever is writing this went to great lengths to avoid others. ]

Comments

[ writing ]

[intostitches]

As an undertaker? I thought it obvious, but...

I custom build all my coffins, carve the headstones and the like, offer mourning jewelry, place orders for floral arrangements and ceremonies...

Then, of course, there's the matter of the bodies. I retrieve my dear guests no matter the state, preserve, repair them like new♥, dress and prepare them for their big day, and take them where they need to go . . .

That's the simple break down of it, really.

[ writing ]

[deathsought]

I see...

[ 'Where they need to go...' he's just going to assume he means 'in the ground,' because he'd rather not consider the alternative. ]

I'll admit I haven't seen anyone so enthusiastic about having such a morbid career.

[ Says the infamous Black Wizard who used to create demons and wipe out entire cities' worth of people in a matter of seconds. ]

[ writing ]

[intostitches]

Well, not many appreciate the beauty that surrounds my line of work♥.

[ writing ]

[deathsought]

[ Even to him, that's a little morbid. For someone who willingly got as deep into the black arts as him, 'beautiful' isn't the choice of words he'd use for what he's famous for. ]

I... see.

[ writing ]

[intostitches]

[ Welcome to Undertaker. ]

I see that you're one of them! Shame, that.

[ writing ]

[deathsought]

One of whom?

[ writing ]

[intostitches]

Those who don't appreciate death's presence! Keep up, my boy.

[ writing ]

[deathsought]

It's difficult to appreciate something that could kill anyone who gets close to you, whether you care about them or not.