2Chapter One: Carpe Cerevesi
Obviously, I didn't start my life bringing two-hundred thousand year old sorcerers back from the dead. And as with all stories, mine begins at the time right before I brought him back, when life was as normal as it could be for a seventeen year old necromancer. How exactly does it begin you ask? Well, Once upon a time.
I examined my pale reflection in the mirror, blinking slowly. My sallow, unhealthy looking skin, my long silver-gray hair, and the deep azure eyes I seemed to have inherited from my great-great-grandmother. I carefully dragged a brush through my hair, gently combing out the tangles that had developed overnight. Each stroke sent waves of exhaustion through my frail form.
I was a short, translucent-skinned girl. The skin having come from my time as a necromancer. During my training, I had decided to use my powers to bring two people back to life, the two people in question had been dead for two weeks. Their souls had already passed on. Unbeknownst to me at the time, bringing people back from beyond the gate was impossible for any normal necromancer, and in doing so, I'd inadvertently shortened my own life-span. Now that I do know, I don't use my powers at all, except maybe to annoy my sister. I don't see any reason to attempt to gain power when I only have seven months left to live out my pathetic life.
I quickly fixed my long black skirt and shirt ensemble, my mother had asked us all to dress up for an occasion, and it wouldn't be doing her any favors if we managed to mess up her perfect plans. Though I had no idea as to what she was planning, I knew very well what she would do if we didn't follow her instructions, and I had no intention of letting her beat me with a whip.
I left my room and descended down the stairs, the ruby red carpet beneath muffling my footsteps. I could hear my mother arguing with someone downstairs, his voice sounded awfully familiar.
"No, I do not want that background, it will clash with the color theme!" I heard her complain. Her high pitched voice echoed in the hall.
Then it hit me, "Oh god," I said, my face one of mock horror, "Not a family photo session." I picked up the pace, all but running down the lengthy stairs.
I grimaced, it was like the stairs were made to encourage avoidance. I knew I wouldn't go down them unless absolutely necessary. My sister came up behind me, a cold sneer on her face, "Out of my way, invalid."
I glared at her, not moving, "If I wanted to be like this, I would have brought a few thousand people back." I grumbled irritably, I didn't like my sister, she was such a bitch. She thought she was more deserving than I, where she had powers within the norm, I was super powerful, and she thought she should have been born with my powers, because she wouldn't have wasted them, like I have.
Of course, she was the only one to think I was wasting my powers, my parents has no intention of letting me die any time soon, and were intent on finding a way to increase my shortened lifespan.
"I said move." She made me sound like a peon or something. That really annoyed me.
I rolled my eyes, "As you wish." I gathered my power around me like a cloak, using it to vanish down the steps, a cloud of darkness was left in my wake.
I could have sworn a vein was bulging on her forehead, "Why you impertinent little brat!" She shrieked at me, I just shrugged in response, turning on my heel, I walked into the living room where our parents waited.
My mother is considered as the head of the family, mostly because my father doesn't even bother to debate her decisions. So usually, whatever she says, goes. She's probably why I'm still alive at the moment, she placed a binding on my dear sister to keep said sister from stealing my powers in my weakened state.
However, sometimes she went a little too far with her schemes and ideas. The annual family portrait was one of them.
"Ah! Micah, you're here. Please do sit down," My mothers' familiar voice washed over me as I sat down, "Why didn't you do anything with your hair?" She asked annoyed, her expression one of mild distaste.
I shrugged, "I don't really have the energy to do anything with my hair in the morning. It takes away the time I use to do other things." My voice was heavy with
implications, my mother knew I couldn't stay up for more than five hours in a day.
My father decided to speak up, "You can go back to your room after this Micah," His rich baritone voice filled the room, "Just try to stay awake for the portrait."
Too exhausted to disagree, I nodded in acknowledgment, after all, the sooner this was over, the faster I could go back to bed.
My sister walked in at that very moment, a cold sneer on her face as she regarded us. As I said earlier, she thought me a peon. She also despised our parents for siding with me whenever I did disagree with any of her harebrained plots.
"Hello mother, father." She said in the politely sickening voice she used just for them. It was a sign of the sheer amount of loathing she held for them that she
bothered being polite at all.
I almost giggled, my mother glared at her, "Good morning Mia. Sit down please, so we can take the portrait." She gestured with her good hand, her left.
Here's a bit of folklore and examples of idiocy from the past, (I know I'm going off on a tangent, but this will be relevant later!) Did you know that not too long ago, people who were left-handed were thought to be cursed by the devil, or witches? We all know that that's actually not the case, but I thought that might just interest you, since all known necromancers are left-handed.
Mia looked at her with disdain, she wasn't quite as capable as I when it came to masking her emotions, or faking them. She was quite easy to read; which was why both me and my mother knew she was after my power- and oftentimes would have tantrums or fits that would immediately clue others in on what she felt.
She sat next to my father, the farthest spot away from me, as I sat next to my mother. I smiled, she made no secret of her distaste for me.
"Okay, we're ready now. Mia, I never want to see you wearing that dress in public." My mother scolded her, her voice venomous.
I set about forming a smile that wouldn't make me appear as if I were in extreme pain. I settled for a small mischievous smile that seemed to say, 'Oops, I got caught'
The photo shoot was over with quickly, and for that I was grateful, however I was probably obligated to attend some other activity later in the day, knowing my mother, she had a party planned. I quickly fled to my room, seizing the opportunity to show off to my sister, I used my powers to teleport myself onto my bed.
"Stop doing that you little brat!" I heard her yell angrily, I giggled.
Closing my eyes, I drifted back into the dreamworld I cherished, I never gave up an opportunity to sleep, I was so much healthier in the dreamworld, and definitely not as stupid. Plus, I was able to look normal, I never decked myself out, I was happy being normal, and being in complete control.
Well, not always. Things have actually been getting a little hectic there lately. A necromancer thought long dead is haunting the dreamworld, and interrupting people's dreams. Oddly enough, he's only haunting other necromancers, he's visited me a few times now, but he hasn't bothered me at all.
"Good afternoon, Micah, is it?" His familiar voice washed over me, cold, slightly domineering, but affectionate at the same time. Not that I really minded, it was
only a dream after all.
I blinked, examining my dreamlike surroundings, my own room, as usual. I watched him warily, curious as to what he was going to do, "Why do you always start a conversation like that?" I asked, shifting my weight onto the balls of my feet.
He merely smiled at me, lighting up his features like a kid on Christmas, "I do not want to forget your name, that is why." His smile turned into a full blown grin,
apparently, something he was thinking about entertained him.
"What's so special about my name? Both my name and I are not very important." I sounded bored to tears, and in truth, I was.
He laughed, amethyst eyes twinkling, "You are more important than you know, Micah."
I giggled at that, "Yeah," I scoffed, "I'll be important in the next thousand or so years of being undead." My sarcasm was not lost on him.
He immediately stopped, giving me a brief once over before speaking, "You don't have much more time do you." He said it as a statement, "I can help you with that."
My giggles turned into full blown hysterics, "Is...that...right?...Oh yeah...I'm...so...dreaming..."
Yet still, I couldn't help but think over his over during my fit of laughter, could he really be telling me the truth?
Author's Note:
Whoohoo~ First update of a story in forever!
Oh well, thanks for reading this, please review! I'll give you a cookie, or a milkshake.
Angel's Requiem: Glad you liked the prologue. It's going to get weirder from there, right now this is Micah when she's semi-depressed/happy. Keep reading I guess.
Anyone else who reviews and has a question, I shall answer here, because someone else might have that same question!
By the way, that left hand tangent will make sense later, I promise! (maybe) Oh and, Carpe Cerevesi means Seize the Beer for those who are wondering.
Love,
ImmortalIncarnate (a.k.a. kittyluva2 for those who knew me before I changed my penname.)