Tossed out on the streets as a child and picked up by an old Russian woman who lived by the graveyard. Death was raised alone, not around many children or people her only light was the old woman that cared for her all she could. Her child years were filled being in the graveyard and robbing the graves with the old women to help keep them afloat.
“Respect the dead dear, always respect the dead.” She would say digging up a grave grabbing an expensive necklace from the corpse has Death looked on with a blank face.
“Why are we digging up their things then?” She would ask.
“They can’t use them and we need to eat. If they're good they’ll have plenty of riches where they are and if their bad serves them right.” She huffed, “remember to apologize young one.” She looks back at the girl as Death puts her head down to apologize.
Along with the old women she had the old mortician that taught her how to read and write and work at the old morgue. He didn’t know of them stealing from the graveyard, and welcomed Death whenever she came by. He wanted to know about how her home situation was but she would always tell him it was good and when the old woman showed up to pick her up, she reassured him that everything was okay. As she grew into an adult the mortician grew older and when she turned 23, he passed away at his desk. However, something wasn’t right. His death came after two people wanted to buy his morgue and he refused. They handed him a bottle of wine and left saying they wished him well. For the first time she felt anger at what they did. The tv was showing the tales of people in Ghostface masks killing people all over the world. She closed the man’s eyes, getting together an outfit and stealing a scythe from the local farm, soon dawning a mask to get her revenge.
She and the old women gave him a nice ceremony as Death took over the morgue and ran it till this day, and at night she hunts those that she deems worthy, finally earning her namesake.