grim

Prithe,

I invite you to a tale, of which frost-bitten digits struggle to convey. Of which a faultering mind of deleted memories chooses to tell.

That of desperation, of single-handedly setting this world ablaze. Adorning frayed parchments of willow trees and decaying lavender fields.

He was dead.

And I, a necromancer.

A [redacted] saturated in foolish desperation. Prodding at a hollowed corpse whom seldom wheezed in response.

Never again,