Status: one shot || complete
Necromancer
I
Down in the field, where the grass was a spritely green during the springtime and a mess of brown and black during the winter, a woman was setting out stinging nettle in a large circle. It was closer to winter, and patches of dirt showed through the dead grass, which a light breeze was trying to raise up, to get the rough, cracked blades to dance and intertwine. Weak sunlight filtered through the tall pine trees, which were casting long shadows.
The woman was dressed in a black gown, with dark gloves reaching over her elbows. A hand slipping into her pocket, she produced thin twine and a few dull green leaves. Wrapping and knotting the twine around the sage, she placed it at the easternmost point of her nettle circle. She walked south next, producing a candle and flicking the blackened wick into an upright position with her long nail, chipping slightly into the dry wax. At the west, she placed a smooth sea shell, which a few stray specks of sand fell out of and onto the scarce ground. Her last object was a fluorite crystal, a large marbled purple and white geode. She placed it at the north and returned to the middle of the circle, facing east.
Closing her eyes, she started murmuring, making small gestures as she did. As she turned to the south, the wind blew slightly harder. The candle lit itself as the woman turned to her left and gestured towards the shell. She felt a few drops of water fall on her head and turned finally to the north, where she finished her incantation as a rumble came from beneath her feet.
“I call upon ye Persephone, to connect us to the Underworld, Hecate, to bless us in this ritual and Hermes, to be our messenger for the dead.”
This was said louder, and a figure moved out from the shadows behind her. A young woman, dressed similarly to the woman in the field, had her hands clasped in front of her. A bag hung off her left shoulder, the cloth that covered it's opening having been moved to the side.
“Bring me the offerings.”
The young woman obliged, pulling from her bag a small piece of paper and a bread roll. The woman in the circle had moved to its perimeter and held her hand out. She was passed the bread roll without hesitance, but the woman held on to the paper for a beat longer, her thumb rubbing the corner where she held it. She sniffed, asking,
“Will this really work?”
“Not if you don’t give me that.” The woman snatched the photograph from her, returning to the middle of the circle. “Now go.”
The young woman moved back a few paces, curious as to what was going to happen.
The woman knelt, taking the bread roll first and breaking it, crumbs tumbling across her lap. She brushed them off absentmindedly while tipping her head back, her face towards the clouds. Closing her eyes, she lifted a piece of the bread towards the sky with her right hand, her left holding up the photograph. It was of a girl, smiling widely at the camera, with long brown hair. The paper started smoking after a few seconds, accompanied by murmuring once again from the woman, and after a few more small flames licked from the woman’s fingertips onto the photograph. The woman didn’t seem to mind, even as the fire rose higher and moved to the edges of the paper, curling the sides over. The ash blew behind her as a strong wind picked up, whipping the young woman’s hair into her face, and she began shouting in a language that the young woman didn’t understand. The sounds were guttural and deep, almost otherworldly.
The woman opened her eyes and before her dark shadowy figures rose from the ground, swirling around her. Her mouth opened in a scream but no sound came out. Hushed noises came from the figures, like they were whispering through thick glass, and they started moving faster, more erratic. Hands that were cold pulled at the woman’s hair and clothes, tugging her in every direction, their whispers becoming screams and animalistic growls. One figure slowed and eventually stopped in front of the woman, as the others still rushed around her. The figure materialised, into more than just a cloak of grey; into a slender waist and delicate wrists, a long neck and button nose, a girl with brown hair and wrath in her eyes, ready to forge a warpath. She opened her mouth and her teeth were sharpened points; she raised her arms, ready to lunge,
“No!” The young woman ran into the circle, scattering the nettle, and an ear splitting shriek hit the air as the hushed noises broke into the otherwise calm clearing.
“Get out!” The necromancer turned to the woman, and as she did the figure slashed long talons towards her face, catching her skin and raking her nails down.
“Don’t hurt her!” The young woman reached for the figure, her hands passing through where her hips should have been. “I’ve done this for you!”
“I said get out, don’t touch it.” The voice was stern, and the young woman was pushed back, this time knocking over the candle, the wax dripping onto a few grass blades and the wick catching one and spreading its flame.
“That’s my wife.”
By now the gashes in the older woman’s skin had started to eat away at the rest of her face; black blood was running down her neck and it burned her like acid.
“Leave,” she was choking on the word as her skin was melting away, revealing the insides of her throat to the world.
The young woman bore her no mind, tears trickling down her face, and she moved towards the crude imitation of her wife. The creature struck her too, across her stomach, and she cried out, gasping as the acid started to eat away at her too.
“Please,” she was begging, for what she was uncertain of. She felt the heat from the fire that had spread across the clearing and had started creeping up the trees. Tears fell more freely, her sorrow mixing with physical pain.
The creature surveyed her through unblinking eyes, the pathetic ball she had curled herself into, the small hiccoughs that came with blood up her throat. The creature leaned down, holding her face with one hand and the girl felt the tips of the nails dig slightly into her cheekbones. She could have sworn she felt her wife exhale, the familiar scent of honeysuckle and mint, usually stolen from their backyard, accompanied by giggles and utterances of no, I’ve not been eating the plants. The creature kissed her, and the young woman’s scream never met the air. Her eyes went blank, and she was tossed to the side like a rag doll, the acid burning her; turning her pitch black.
The shadow moved towards the edge of the protection circle, where the nettles had been broken, and moved out.
“Come.”
The woman was dressed in a black gown, with dark gloves reaching over her elbows. A hand slipping into her pocket, she produced thin twine and a few dull green leaves. Wrapping and knotting the twine around the sage, she placed it at the easternmost point of her nettle circle. She walked south next, producing a candle and flicking the blackened wick into an upright position with her long nail, chipping slightly into the dry wax. At the west, she placed a smooth sea shell, which a few stray specks of sand fell out of and onto the scarce ground. Her last object was a fluorite crystal, a large marbled purple and white geode. She placed it at the north and returned to the middle of the circle, facing east.
Closing her eyes, she started murmuring, making small gestures as she did. As she turned to the south, the wind blew slightly harder. The candle lit itself as the woman turned to her left and gestured towards the shell. She felt a few drops of water fall on her head and turned finally to the north, where she finished her incantation as a rumble came from beneath her feet.
“I call upon ye Persephone, to connect us to the Underworld, Hecate, to bless us in this ritual and Hermes, to be our messenger for the dead.”
This was said louder, and a figure moved out from the shadows behind her. A young woman, dressed similarly to the woman in the field, had her hands clasped in front of her. A bag hung off her left shoulder, the cloth that covered it's opening having been moved to the side.
“Bring me the offerings.”
The young woman obliged, pulling from her bag a small piece of paper and a bread roll. The woman in the circle had moved to its perimeter and held her hand out. She was passed the bread roll without hesitance, but the woman held on to the paper for a beat longer, her thumb rubbing the corner where she held it. She sniffed, asking,
“Will this really work?”
“Not if you don’t give me that.” The woman snatched the photograph from her, returning to the middle of the circle. “Now go.”
The young woman moved back a few paces, curious as to what was going to happen.
The woman knelt, taking the bread roll first and breaking it, crumbs tumbling across her lap. She brushed them off absentmindedly while tipping her head back, her face towards the clouds. Closing her eyes, she lifted a piece of the bread towards the sky with her right hand, her left holding up the photograph. It was of a girl, smiling widely at the camera, with long brown hair. The paper started smoking after a few seconds, accompanied by murmuring once again from the woman, and after a few more small flames licked from the woman’s fingertips onto the photograph. The woman didn’t seem to mind, even as the fire rose higher and moved to the edges of the paper, curling the sides over. The ash blew behind her as a strong wind picked up, whipping the young woman’s hair into her face, and she began shouting in a language that the young woman didn’t understand. The sounds were guttural and deep, almost otherworldly.
The woman opened her eyes and before her dark shadowy figures rose from the ground, swirling around her. Her mouth opened in a scream but no sound came out. Hushed noises came from the figures, like they were whispering through thick glass, and they started moving faster, more erratic. Hands that were cold pulled at the woman’s hair and clothes, tugging her in every direction, their whispers becoming screams and animalistic growls. One figure slowed and eventually stopped in front of the woman, as the others still rushed around her. The figure materialised, into more than just a cloak of grey; into a slender waist and delicate wrists, a long neck and button nose, a girl with brown hair and wrath in her eyes, ready to forge a warpath. She opened her mouth and her teeth were sharpened points; she raised her arms, ready to lunge,
“No!” The young woman ran into the circle, scattering the nettle, and an ear splitting shriek hit the air as the hushed noises broke into the otherwise calm clearing.
“Get out!” The necromancer turned to the woman, and as she did the figure slashed long talons towards her face, catching her skin and raking her nails down.
“Don’t hurt her!” The young woman reached for the figure, her hands passing through where her hips should have been. “I’ve done this for you!”
“I said get out, don’t touch it.” The voice was stern, and the young woman was pushed back, this time knocking over the candle, the wax dripping onto a few grass blades and the wick catching one and spreading its flame.
“That’s my wife.”
By now the gashes in the older woman’s skin had started to eat away at the rest of her face; black blood was running down her neck and it burned her like acid.
“Leave,” she was choking on the word as her skin was melting away, revealing the insides of her throat to the world.
The young woman bore her no mind, tears trickling down her face, and she moved towards the crude imitation of her wife. The creature struck her too, across her stomach, and she cried out, gasping as the acid started to eat away at her too.
“Please,” she was begging, for what she was uncertain of. She felt the heat from the fire that had spread across the clearing and had started creeping up the trees. Tears fell more freely, her sorrow mixing with physical pain.
The creature surveyed her through unblinking eyes, the pathetic ball she had curled herself into, the small hiccoughs that came with blood up her throat. The creature leaned down, holding her face with one hand and the girl felt the tips of the nails dig slightly into her cheekbones. She could have sworn she felt her wife exhale, the familiar scent of honeysuckle and mint, usually stolen from their backyard, accompanied by giggles and utterances of no, I’ve not been eating the plants. The creature kissed her, and the young woman’s scream never met the air. Her eyes went blank, and she was tossed to the side like a rag doll, the acid burning her; turning her pitch black.
The shadow moved towards the edge of the protection circle, where the nettles had been broken, and moved out.
“Come.”