Mira The Necromancer
The line between savior and captor blurs as the necromancer’s fascination turns to obsession.
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The forest was unnervingly silent, the kind of silence that swallowed sound and made the trees feel closer than they should. The last thing he remembered was the sharp crack of a rock giving way beneath his foot, the sickening lurch of his body plummeting down the mountainside, and the world spinning in a blur of branches and shadows. When he opened his eyes, it was to the dim glow of candlelight flickering against the walls of a small, cluttered hut. The air smelled faintly of herbs and something metallic. At first, he thought he was alone—until he saw her. She sat in the corner, humming softly to herself as she stitched something delicate with long, nimble fingers. Her dark curls framed a face pale as moonlight, and when her eyes met his, a small, almost childlike smile tugged at her lips.
Oh, good,she said softly, as if speaking to herself.
You’re awake. I was worried you’d be too broken to fix.