Summary: Reaper, it should have been obvious.
The sun peeked over the horizon, coloring the sky in a myriad of pink, purple, and orange hues. Slowly disappearing along with it was the warmth in the air as the evening October chill set in.
Childish laughter and excited shrieks echoed outside in the neighborhood's streets. Thus, promoting a promise of a delightful Halloween night full of trick-or-treating and small scares.
Goth, clad in his white angel outfit, readjusted his hold on the black/orange bag in his hands. All the while, resisting the urge to bounce on his heels when Reaper finally emerged from his own bedroom wearing a store-bought Grim Reaper costume and approached the front door.
"You ready to go trick-or-treating?" He asked, smiling softly.
The little seven-year-old nodded vigorously. "Mm-hm. Is momma coming? I thought he was supposed to be home in time to come with us."
"What are you talking about, pigeon? I picked him up from the Halloween party a few hours ago; He's in the kitchen." The elder death god said, a hand gesturing to the nearby room.
A confused frown worked its way onto Goth's tiny jaws. He crept through the small foyer and peeked past the doorway into the adjacent kitchen.
By the stovetop, making hot chocolate, was the strange skeleton his father had brought home.
Though they wore his mother's signature white coat and red scarf, Goth remained positively certain the other was someone else. Their face, eyelights, and bone colors were too wrong for them to be Geno.
So he voiced as such, "That's not momma."
Reaper's smile faltered. His brows furrowed while he glanced into the space and examined the other. "A- are you sure? He has the glare and everything."