Pantuffah

He's a lonely individual, isolated from the troubles of living humanity. A cold individual, apathetically working himself to death. A selfish individual, with more riches than he knows what do to with. An uncaring individual, who once cared too much.

Everyone has an expiration date, an internal hourglass with the grains slowly pouring, slowly falling. When the last grain collects with the rest, with the rest of the life lived, the eyes go dull, the breath stops. The heart is put to rest.

Very few are blessed with eyes that will never dull, breath that will never stop, a heart that will never rest. Those eyes can see the hourglasses of the rest of humanity. That breath stale and reeking of nothingness; that heart doomed to work for eternity. These are the workers of death, humans who cheated death with the condition to work with the parts of humanity not even humanity itself wants any part of. Death itself, the very thing they were saved from. If you consider them saved at all.

taffy, the coffin crafter