Ciarán laughed at Cael's question, not to mock but purely out of a sense of boundless amusement. He shook his head, running his fingers through his smooth dark hair. “I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you once again,” he began, grinning. “There are no 'rules' for my kind. Not in that sense that you speak of. We were not hired or created in a way that necessitates a list of rules. As far as I'm aware, no one not on the edge of death has ever seen any of us before. You'd be the first. It's difficult to make a rule about something you don't even believe to be possible. It'd be like humans making a rule that states no one is allowed to lick a cloud while flying sans aircraft. The rule is all well and good but since the situation isn't conceivable, there's no reason for its existence.”<br/><br/>He paused, tapping his fingertips against his lips as he thought. “I have always just<i>been</i>. I recall no beginning for me. My name is just what I call myself. Whether it was given to me or I decided it on my own... I don't really know.” He lightly chuckled, looking to Cael from the corner of his eyes. “Though, I have to admit, the black hooded robe and scythe thing isn't<i>completely</i>inaccurate. I am not the only one of my kind. There is another I am neighbors with, Angelique. She adores the long flowing cloaks and catering to the more... macabre side of death. I do not know if Angelique received her sense of style from the human stories or if a dying man described her to a crowded room of loose-lipped individuals before she took him away. Many of the tales humans tell one another to comfort themselves as they ponder the inevitability of death are nothing but pure nonsense, but that one is partially true.”<br/><br/>Cael's second line of questioning was much more serious, and this time Ciarán had to think for much longer before answering, choosing his words carefully. “There are some who... do not take well to passing on,” he explained with a hefty sigh. “These are the Lost, doomed to wander aimlessly on a plane where their existence is neither heard nor seen except by the most sensitive of humans, and even then they are but a shadow of their former selves. Despite the abundance of ghost stories shared between human cultures, these Lost ones are exceptionally rare. Only the most stubborn or tormented of souls refuse to journey with us onto the other side. The place beyond death is different for everyone, but from what I understand of it... it isn't really all that dissimilar from life. The existential pain of existence is gone, which can make things either wonderful or dreadfully dull depending on your perspective, but it is still just another form of<i>being</i>, something humans already have experience with. Truthfully, living is the worst part of it all.”<br/><br/>The faintest hint of color kissed Death's cheeks, though it was nearly imperceptible in the dark. The nighttime seemed to accentuate the pale glow of Ciarán's unearthly skin, and as his eyes roamed back and forth between Cael's face and his own hands, he noticed this difference between them for the first time and wondered if Cael could see it, too.<br/><br/>“I apologize if that answer is a bit melancholy,” Ciarán said, his grin subtly shifting into something bittersweet, lacking the playful curve it had carried just moments before. “The Lost are considered great failures for my kind. My job is to happily usher the dead into a new state of being. Anyone who fights against my soothing touch and defies my direction... well, they're difficult to forget. Each time I lose a soul to pride, or fear, or inconsolable longing for what they have left behind, it makes me wonder, '<i>Why me? What purpose could I possibly serve if the only reason I exist I cannot fulfill?' </i>Oh, now I've ventured from melancholy into maudlin. As you can see, Death is wonderful company.”<br/><br/>There it was, that bittersweet chuckle, that ring of sadness masquerading as bemusement. “Tell me, Cael, have you seen ghosts? Or did you just worry that I was one? I can promise you, Cael, I'm nothing of the sort. I'm not a hallucination. I'm here, with you, as inconceivable as that may seem.” Ciarán reached out and brushed his fingers against Cael's, absorbing the warmth from his skin. Cael was practically hot to the touch in comparison to Ciarán's chilly flesh, but Ciarán found he liked it more than could convey with mere words.<br/><br/><i>Tick. Tick. TICK. TICK. <span style="font-size: 18px">TICK. </span><span style="font-size: 22px">TICK.</span></i><br/><br/>“I... I'm sorry, Cael,” Ciarán interjected, tugging his hand away. “I must go. I've lingered for quite a while. I wish I could stay with you longer, but... it seems tonight I have other obligations to carry out.”