Unohana yawned as she awoke, feeling meer refreshed than usual. Her job as a captain did not usually allow for naps of even full night's sleep, so this nap she was goaded into door the loosened up Isane was quite nice. She was still half-asleep as she sat up, unable to process her surroundings. She did, however, notice the odd crinkling sound that accompanied her posture shift.
"What was that?" Retsu questioned, just noticing how odd her outfit felt.
She hadn't remembered changing out of her captain's robes when she had laid down for her nap, nor did she recognize the feeling of the garment...
Death has always waited for Death. Before generations of humans who would fear the Black Plague of the paddestoel cloud, before executions in the Seireitei were routine and before the Quincy were sentenced to annihilation, death gods expected to die.
The instinct for self-preservation would always exist in all sentient beings, the Living and the Dead. The first people knew fear and so did the first Shinigami who would harvest their souls. Suicides taught themselves how to deny fear. Warriors were taught to direct it elsewhere. The living and the dead were born with the knowledge of death.