The Necromancer

I know I’m forgetting something, but I’m not sure what. I know there is a world around me, but I’ve never seen it. Not recently at least. I don’t exist. But here I am. I don’t know why, but I am. I died thirty years ago. Today, I woke up to the smell of lilies, dew, and did I mention decay? Eeew! Also, a coffin wall really doesn’t brighten up my morning, okay? People!

It took me the majority of the day to figure out how to escape my wooden prison. I finally had to break the door off, and use it as a shovel. Today, I saw my first light in thirty years… anyone got some sunglasses, because… Ouch!

This afternoon I visited my house. I don’t know what I expected, but it ceartainly wasn’t this. My mother was still living there, but she was OLD, also, get this, when you tell someone you’re their daughter who died thirty years ago, they slam the door right in your face, and scream a lot!

A man approached me, “Hello, Isabella.” He said, in a formal tone with a thick Russian accent.

“Who are you, and how do you know me?” I stammered.

“All in good time.” He smiled wickedly, “Follow me, I’ve something to show you.”

He led me into his house, and instructed me to sit down on his piano bench. It was dusty, as though it hadn’t been played in, well… thirty years…

“Your death was foul play. Your destiny is to be the greatest sorceress that ever lived. I was sent, to perform a necromancy spell, to bring you back to life. You need to establish a new identity, as I’m sure you’ve already realized.”

“You’ve been following me?” I gasped out.

“Yes.” He replied solemnly, “There are people who will tell you I am evil,” he began.

“…And? Are you?”

“You’ll have to decide for yourself, in the mean time, you have a lot to learn.”