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> Cynic
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 Posted: Yesterday at 09:45 pm
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52 posts 06/18/17
N/A years
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A sound would be heard from where there was no one to make it, "Wait." A spectral hand would appear, grabbing the book, and pulling it into the seemingly impassable dome. There would be a period of silence. One with good enough hearing would hear pages flipping. Finally, a sound like the one before would state, "Leave the door unlocked, and open the window near where I left those uniforms I made, please,"

"your highness."

She'd do her best to wait until he left before crying again, clutching the book to her chest. However, this time, they were not tears of anguish, but of a feeling she couldn't quite place: something between relief and joy. He was being honest. As long as he did that, she could trust him.

As long as she could trust him, she could trust it when he said those wonderful things about her. As long as she could trust him, she could trust the feelings she was fighting. As long as she could trust him, she could believe that she might actually find love, marry this man, have the life she dreamed of as a young woman, and had given up on as she aged.

She'd send Lachdanan to follow him, ignoring his protests about his insistence Martin was undead.

She knew.

Why else would he have a ritual for resurrecting vampires? The magic involved was interesting though. Normally, resurrection was a matter of the divine, and something she purposefully never dabbled in. After all, the Raven Queen was actively opposed to any form of unnatural life extension. This was different though. This ritual seemed to suggest that their condition was something of a curse, something ancient and primordial, that left the victim immortal and corrupted. This spell didn't so much extend life as cleanse the curse and leave the being whole and human, as nature intended. If anything, this would be agreeable to her dear "aunt". Due to the difference in cause when compared to the vampires of her home plane, this wouldn't be particularly useful where she came from. Still, the implications of the way this ritual was constructed were absolutely fascinating.

However, as much as she'd love to continue reading, she had work to do. If Martin had accommodated her requests, Lachdanan would be arriving with the first uniform soon.

She'd move the earth in sections of five cubic feet at a time, quickly uncovering the caskets. However, after finding they were not made of wood and nail, and not finding an easy way to open them, she groaned.

To those who would be awake to hear it, several excessively loud knocks could be heard throughout the night, and as dawn began to approach an entourage of men in strange uniforms that obscured sight of the wearer marched in procession around a tall woman with noble bearing who petted the raven that perched upon her glove idly.

Lady Crow was heading home.

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