Death looks just as death should.

Black cloak, scythe, face hidden by the shadows.

He looks at me from under his cloak, all I can see of him, though, are his grey eyes. Nostalgic, sorrowful eyes.

He doesn’t like being the one who separates families, tears lives away.

But he is also the one that consoles the spirits of those who are gone, he is the one who takes care of them.

He is even the one who looks upon their loved ones, sometimes.

Because, despite all,

The spirits love death.

And Death loves them too.