He'd left it by the window where the mortician was sure to find it. Sanded and lacquered, polished to perfection. A beautiful display of craftsmanship. The casket looked to fit a smaller person. A child, perhaps. Five feet long in baby blue. When he returned to check if it had been received, it was with a weary smile. "It didn't seem right to make a man bury family." The butler watched him for any reaction to those words; for an answer that would never come. --- Not to him. not today.
This wasn’t the death of reason, no… && the demon mattered not at this point. He was only ever relevant when on the Grim Reaper’s way. When sparing the spare the same fate which had befallen his brother was still an option. And an option it was no longer… No strong magic or supernatural tricks could possibly do retrieving a soul once consumed justice, && revenge, although better served cold, wouldn’t bring him back the same. So trying, in his view, was moot point, no matter the way he looked at it.
Almost as if the child’s bitter end had patted down his hackles, the Undertaker didn’t react to Sebastian’s presence about, his knuckles devoted in their reach to caress the boy’s cold cheek. Rigor mortis had already set in, it would seem. He would have to fetch this one’s custom coffin && dip him in embalming fluid before decay festered.
That was the only way to bring him back, the Undertaker told himself. He’s done it before his share of times.
With his lips parting to the soundless voice of a mourning tune, the Undertaker could taste his own tears, quick to neglect them in favour of fetching whatever was needed to preserve the body.
Sooner or later, the demon would be back to his own realm, so he didn’t bother with him, as there were more pressing matters at stake.