Summary: A dark day for some, and a bright day for others.

A/N: This story was inspired by my friend, Claudy, so shout out to them for inspiring me with more cursed ideas.

Goth silently stood garbed in an ever rare black cloak, shirt, and dress pants with matching sleek shoes. The bloody glitch to his right wore similar attire while tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared down the closed wooden casket placed upon the catafalque before them.

For the funeral.

The attendees were far and few between- simply Geno, the minor death god himself, and his father: Reaper, who seemed to be far less mournful than one should be under the circumstances.

In fact, the elder dark-cloaked skeleton appeared downright jovial. More so than usual, if his victorious dance in the background was an indication.

Goth frowned at his father's disrespectful antics, but it also reminded him of a question he had pondered since learning of this event. "Mom, I'm sorry to ask... but who's dead?"

Geno sniffled, gently wiping the tears from his face with the tail end of his scarf. "My virginity."

The young adult blinked before glancing toward the other, dumbfounded.

"What..." Goth sputtered, "But- If that's... Then how did you have me?"

His mother gave no reply.

"Mom?" He tried, only to be met by further silence.