I've worked with skulls and taxidermy for years, and my mother was a mortician, so death doesn't yuck me out, but something about holding a skull and going, "Hm... there was a brain in this," just slams me into an existential crisis at eighty-eight miles per hour.
Me, singing quietly while I gently scrape tissue off of teeth: I'm just meat! I'm just meat! I'm meat that has opinions and one day I'll die!
Halmet (1603)









