The Bear and Barnacle

She was never sure which of her was real.
Most of the time, she liked to think Governess!Susan was the real one. The one who minded children, and cleaned up spills, and cooked meals, and read embellished bed time stories. The Susan who was loved. Twyla and Gawaine loved her, and she had the collection of artwork to prove it. Their sensible, never-afraid governess, who kept them safe from the monsters. She wanted that life to be the real one.
But more often, the thing that feels the truest is not the one that feels the best, and her normal life is just a distraction from her lineage.
When she took up the Scythe, as she was fond of calling what she did, when Grandfather took a holiday, she felt right. She didn't want too. She wanted to be normal. But she wasn't meant to be normal.
The dark dresses, the cloaks, the Voice. All these things come more naturally to her than even blinking. She has power, if she would only accept it.
She lays in bed at night, listening to Ghost!Teatime mutter to himself in the attic, and wonders which one he sees.
Which Susan does anyone see.
Which is the real disguise? The Governess? Or Death?

She's been wandering this new town her whole day off. It felt good to get out of Ankh-Morpork. The city was the center of her world, but it did get tiresome after a while. It wasn't that she didn't love the children with all her heart, it was just, well... noisy. She has no place to be alone with her thoughts, and with the exception of Quoth, who really only wanted to talk about eyeballs, and Death of Rats, who really just wanted to talk about...well...the obvious, she wasn't exactly rich with friends and good conversation.
Aside from the ghost, of course, but he was so far away from counting she didn't even want to consider it.
Pushing her cloak's hood back from her face, she steps into the warmth of the first pub she's found, hoping it will be nicer than the ones at home.
Not that they aern't adequite. She just needs something...different.