Soft music-box lullaby plays while rain taps the window. The little felt grim reaper opens one sleepy eye, looks at the "Back in 5 centuries" tag tied to his scythe, and flicks it with one knitted finger so the tag spins around on its string with a tiny ding. He lets out a squeaky yawn, tugs his hood down over his eyes, and wiggles back into the hammock, which sways and creaks gently. The candle flame flickers. Camera stays still.