"You can't go."

"Dad, it's my job."

"Not after what happened... please..."

Goth quietly pried the arms ensnaring him from his small frame, frowning. "I promised I wouldn't do that again."

Reaper slowly shook his skull. "There is so much out there though..."

"I'll be fine," Goth gave his father a firm nod. "I promise. Again."

"As soon as you see danger, run." Reaper was back to holding Goth tightly, his voice quivering over a whisper.

"Alright."

"And as soon as you're done, come home."

"Okay."

"Goth." Reaper pulled away, staring his son straight in the 'eye'. "I'm serious."

Goth nodded. "I know you are."

Reaper scanned his son's face for a time before carefully nodding as well. "Right..." He finally released the other and stood, taking a few steps back. "Be safe."

Goth felt like his head might pop off with how many times he had to nod. "I will."

~~~

(Turn on the music here please! :3)

Goth let out a chilled sigh, his breathe opac and misty from the cold winter air. 

His father was overreacting, really. He just needed to reap a cat and go home. 
Goth took his time walking down the street, staring at the buildings he passed. Displays with flashing lights and new toys held his gaze for a while.
Mortals had things called 'Holidays'. He always wondered what it would be like to be apart of it all, the celebration with your closest loved ones, surrounded by pure joy.

How he wished he had holidays.

Eventually, he found himself stopping in front of a display. It was a quaint little window which showcased different antiques from various places. Most looked dusty and old with time while others seemed completely fake. One thing continued to catch his 'eye' though.

A golden wind-up music box.

It gleamed off of the soft light shining from the ceiling, glittering with warmth. He was trapped in a soothing trance, staring at its engravings and intricate details. What song did it play, he pondered silently. 

When he finally looked away from the window, he saw the sky had went dark and dazzling flecks of snow had started to gently flutter from the heavens. The lights lining the streets had grown in strength and colorful bulbs reflected off of shop windows. 

He was alone.

Goth didn't mind.

He turned back to the music box. He didn't have any money on him but he wished to hold it. To keep it. Reluctantly, he turned towards the door to the shop and walked to it, gently pushing it open. The bell twinkled its soft chime and fell silent as he slipped through. 

It seemed that the shop keeper had gone into the back since the lights were still on. Goth turned to the display window. The golden box enticed him closer and soon he found his body obeying its calls, taking quiet steps closer and closer to it. Soon, the box was in his hands and he was staring right at it. 

Tiny flowers and butterflies were engraved on the top, the art flowing into a scene of shimmering snow. From spring to winter. Goth gently grazed a bony finger over the colored carvings. From life to eternal slumber. He turned towards the counter and walked to it, digging through his pockets. 

Nothing of real mortal value was found within but he settled on taking out one of his treasures. A flower which never wilted, even when he touched it. A singular white lily.

He held the bloom to his mouth and whispered something to it before leaving it on the counter and leaving. 

Hopefully, they will accept it as payment.

~

He sat down on a park bench, watching the snow fall. The subtle sounds of tree branches bending and snow crunching were the only sounds to accompany him. He looked down to the gold music box in his hands and turned it over. A tiny golden key encrusted with sapphire and ruby gems looked back at Goth. He gentle took it in his hands and turned the box on its side, placing the key inside of the small key hole. With a few turns, he set the box beside him and listened to the calming tunes.

Enticed by the sound as he had been, a stray cat limped up to his park bench, mewling at him. Goth looked down and his gentle smile turned sad. He bent over and quietly lifted the cat into his lap, stroking its sickly fur. 

The poor thing.

Quietly, the two sat in silence, the cat snuggling up to him for warmth while he provided the love it had longed for.

Time went on and the cat was resting in his lap, its head limp and its expression one of sad happiness. Goth continued to stroke it even after it passed away. 

For the first time in a while, he felt icy tears trickle down from his eye-sockets. He wept over the dead form in front of him, his hands shaking.

How could anyone do this job?

He wiped his tears with his sleeve before they could freeze but more and more tears softly rolled down his cheeks. His chest ached and he found himself having trouble with breathing.

The music box continued to play as he wept.

"Hey."

Goth's head shot up. 

Someone stood before him.