"Mom... does Dad hate us?"
Such was a question raised to Bathory when the boy was five. Tending to a garden full of red roses and posies, the mother merely laughed as he raised such a thought. "Why, of course not, my sweet one~! Why would you assume such a foul thing?" She'd ask.
The boy was scared to add on further, looking down at the dug up soil as he began to plant the small seeds. "It feels like he just... hates everything. Two days ago, we tried to give him his birthday party, but he didn't even bother to sing the song or enjoy the games. Yesterday, we tried to give him a special Vacation, but he didn't bother to budge about it. I don't know if this Garden's gonna do any different..."
The Mother sighed as she'd finish her portion, quickly getting up and making her way to her son, cupping around his box-like head, petting his cheeks as she lets him rest on her lap, the sweat wiped away as the hard efforts were rewarded. "My dear... His way of 'love' is not something everyone is used to seeing. Do you not recall what your father and I did when the party was over?" She'd ask. The boy merely shook his head, prompting a small smile out of her. "He sang to me a Ballad. Every night, when we give him our gifts, he always cherishes them when we aren't looking. You, my beloved son, is the most precious of them all. A Gift he'd never expect to have, and a gift he shall always loves, even if he can't show it."
"But why...? If he appreciates us, why does he look so... negative? It feels like whenever I look at him-"
"Everyone has that same feeling. The sight of the end is an abrupt one, for sure. That's just what he is. What he embodies. We cannot hold that against him. If he had the possibility, he would toss that pain away in a heartbeat and be free with us both." The boy was still confused, but as he was about to ask his question, he would hear someone approach. His Father, being careful not to stain the newly planted flowers and seeds, as he'd look onward. "Oh! That's him right now. Excuse me." She'd let her son rest on the ground as she gets up and meets with him. As Mawkin looked to his father's stead, he'd see nothing.
A void.
A black mass, with only the silhouette of a coffin, the fine woodwork around himself. The boy sighed as he'd look away, not allowed to get a proper read on a reaction. A vacant stare was all he gets whenever he tries to appreciate him. As the two adults made their way out, such a thought ate away in his mind. Wandering and wandering for no true goal, his curiosity took the best out of him. He'd get himself up and snuck inside, taking his shoes and socks off to avoid making noises and slipping around the ground. He'd kept himself compact as he'd trail behind, hoping there is some confirmation of his mother's words. When he arrived, he'd be met with a somber tune, and a slow dance. Through the doorframe, he could see his mother, dancing gleefully with the figure, his hand around her waist, his other hand grasping hers. Small giggles were made by the Vampiress as she nuzzled her head close, as Mawkin heard his father begin to sing.
"Daiiiiii~sy..."
"Daiiiii~sy..."
"Give me your an~swer too..."
"I'm half Cra~zy..."
"All for the lo~ove of you..."
"It won't be a sty~lish marriage."
"I caaaan't afford a Carriage..."
"But you'll look sweet. Upon a Seat."
"Of a Bicycle built for two~..."
Seeing such love, such warmth, would stoke something within Mawkin. A heartbeat unlike any other. Slowly, the very vision he had faded. The coffin disappeared, the earth dug up. In that moment, he'd finally see his father's face: Smiling, Joyful, at peace. He could recall the many times where Sozo was annoyed or disdained against the world. He could recall the many times where Sozo's desires were palpable, almost crushing in intensity. To see him discard it all, just for the sake of enjoying the loved ones close.
His mind was set in stone. He wasn't willing to live in a world without making his Father at least smile and see through his immortal life. Throughout the years that followed, he made an effort to learn and be strong. He'd struggle when it comes to his magic, more so in combat. Every time he was placed in training, where his opponents would be faced with such aggression, he wasn't able to put his all. He'd cower or panic at the slightest change of discourse, fight or flight invading his mind like a parasite. Every time he considers this option, however, he could recall that small dance, that song. When he does, he'd close his eyes, take a deep breath, and focused. Eventually, at his later years, he'd finally join the ranks of the Shadow Mages, albeit intentionally at the lowest. As he looked to his father when initiated, he saw it again.
A Smile, just as faint as before, just as proud. He couldn't help but shed a tear, knowing he was already meeting his goals by taking such a position.
Even in his first mission, a simple recon, he'd still panic. Bandits and marauders would step in and attack, battering and bleeding him down, taking whatever was worth their value in gold. Even still, he'd push on, not wanting to hesitate any further, not wanting to waste that smile he worked for so much. At some points, his father would intervene, having others be given that very stare. He'd fall into such grief and get those visions again, understanding what such a sight was for.
Such a sight is only granted to those that value their life above all else. To be met with a vision of their own grave, unable to look at Sozo directly without being bombarded this illusion. Varying from mere coffins to cremation in flames and soot, to even just left on the ground, only having time pass by when they look out to the never-ending horizon, all of them share a common theme: It is a sight you gain when you pass on, and left to rot away. Even if it was a mere glance, it glued into his eyes as much as the others would in such blank stares. He was able to understand the reason why he was able to see his father again...
Was because his life mattered less than what he truly wanted. To discard that care for such life... he was able to look at Death.