The role that Derek played was guardian to the underworld, a place that chilled one to the bone at the simple thought of it. For the most part, he lived there alone with the souls of those that had passed to keep him company. The work was always busy and always thankless, colder than the ground one was buried in. He longed for the warmth of the sun, for springtime when the flowers bloomed. Was his role a mistake? He'd always wondered if he was cursed and if this was how things would always be. Stiles grew bored of the spring, of the flowers, of the pollen that would cover everything in a yellow dust. He'd tired of the monotony of the same old pattern; pollinate, bloom, harvest. Over and over again it had turned and turned. What truly fascinated him was when the flowers would wither and petals would fall from their stems. He had a morbid fascination with death, with the destruction of everything so perfect. Perhaps that was what had drawn him to the gateway in the first place.