You gasp audibly at the impudence of the scion of Death. “I run a quality restaurant,” you say. 

“Well, there are plenty of places that don’t honor their breakfast with real syrup.”

“And I’m not one of those,” you say, pulling out a brown plastic jug of real Michigan maple syrup. “It costs more, but I fell in love on this small farm in my youth. We’d run through the maple groves and…” you pause for a moment to remember your lost love.

“I’m sorry we got separated,” they say, after pouring the syrup out of the dispenser. They undo their skull, and you see the face of your lost love from those summers ago. That love whose loss almost trapped you in a world where your only happiness came from working in this restaurant.

“I had a chance to see you before the end. I wanted to see if you’d remember me,” they say. 

“I never forgot you.”

You close up the shop and reconnect with your lost love and with passions rekindled, eventually you bone.

THE END