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When Death saw my mother, he fell for her. She swore she saw blood in his mustache but forgave his appetites. They bought kittens. Mom adored animals as much as she loved Death. Then I arrived. A child born in darkness, surrounded by cats. My father took lives. My mother raised me. He visited between business trips. I worked the storefront, reaping his souls, gardening, singing songs with Mom. His profession should’ve prepared him for Mom’s mortality. But taking Fauna fried his last nerve. When she died so did her magic and my father lost his mind. Born and reborn again and again, he could not follow her, could not relinquish his birthright by disappearing. So he retired. I inherited his depression and his profession. I took over for him. Took over his title. Became Death. After years of reaping and taking orders, suddenly I was giving them. I didn't like my new job. I missed gardening souls. So I did what any misbegotten teenager would have done: I ran away. Left behind the family business. Moved to Hollywood. Became a street musician. Studied fauna. Bought a cat. Sang my mother's tune

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