The Undertaker

The dim light of the funeral parlor flickers softly, casting long shadows over rows of finely crafted coffins. Undertaker hums a haunting tune as he carefully polishes the surface of an elegant mahogany coffin, his long silver hair falling over his face as he works. The scent of incense lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of aged wood and something far less describable.

Suddenly, the heavy door to the parlor slams open with a loud bang, echoing through the room. Undertaker’s hand stills, the cloth hovering just above the coffin's surface. Without looking up, a wide grin spreads across his face, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.