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White hair and a suit of Crimson and snow to match.
Death was a fine man, you see and fine men dress the way they wish to appear, not necessarily they way they are. Of course Death himself appeared the way he was, because he was the only certainty. Complete clarity and castles of glass and faceless beings were what crafted his name and they were the very threads that bore him into existence. Yet, his existence was entirely the essence of the problem. Eternity was terribly long, you see and with too much time and you yourself and you were the only company, it proved to be a touch boring. In an attempt to come within a mile of describing Death’s circumstances, one might think of a mortal man and a million dollars. When given a million dollars, a man will spend that money without a doubt on himself, on his family and perhaps the poor if he were a simple man. But just like any man, his life's end is unavoidable which gives it meaning, even purpose. But if a man was left to a white, windowless and door less room with a million dollars the money is only paper to wipe his tears with.
Death, my dear friend was left to wonder all of existence with one job, eternity and no one to spend it with. Well, what is one to when eternity beckons? Death found that each and every one of mortal beings had a story to tell and where he couldn't empathise with our woes, he could observe and bask in the wonders, simple as they were.
But once upon a time not so long ago, in a little French village of sunshine and sweet things, the story of a baker’s boy caught Deaths interest like no other had.
ns 15.158.61.4da2
