Yolanda hadn't looked at Daniel for the duration of his story, only looking at him when he had revealed his scar. Her mind felt a little confused, a little disoriented, a little tired. It all combined to slowly eat away at her already thinning sanity. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be in an asylum, discussing what shouldn't be there. Then again, what else was there to do? 

She bit at her thumbnail, staring down at the floor. There was a faded stain on the linoleum and she wondered how it got there. The blonde glanced up at Daniel for a moment before returning her eyes to the floor.

"When I was little, my parents would tell me this story," Yolanda murmured, her thumb falling away from her mouth and into her lap. "Death had grown tired over history. He was exhausted, growing more and more weary as the years wore on and the human population continued to grow."

As she spoke, she moved her shoe against the stain, as if trying to erase it. "So, he hired help. Souls, those who didn't mind stealing away human life. He distributed them throughout the world. But he made a mistake. The souls, they were almost at the level of demons. They didn't want to help the dead to the other side as he had for so long, rather steal the souls for themselves."

Yolanda turned to look at Daniel then, suddenly looking tired and continuing in a resigned tone. "He had already taught them how to harvest souls. He could never truly stop them. So, now they roam around, taking souls for themselves rather than showing them the light." 
The woman smiled thinly and it looked wrong, as if the corners of her mouth had been simply pulled up by invisible strings.

"Isn't it funny what parents tell their kids?"