Winter: a poem, based on Necromantic

You’re swallowing fire again.
You never promised to stop,
but for your apprentice, I had assumed…

This is no place to raise a child.
Among the cold heather of the frozen highlands,
eating roots and drinking broth,
traveling with a master who forgets to cook for two,
learning the craft from a dropout who never completed his own training.

Any other necromancer would make a better teacher,
but you know that.

It’s only a matter of time, isn’t it, necromancer?
You feel it in your bones as they grind away to dust,
your nerves, snapping and tingling,
your vision as it fades to fog.

You’ve spent your life kissing spirits.
They take you by the hand and lift your feet from the ground.

For now, you can pretend you’re still here.
You can move your body from above by puppet strings.
But strings grow taut and break.

One day, she will be alone.
She will bury you and read your rites.

So please,
by the gods of the forest and sky,
prepare her.

And take care that day doesn’t come in winter.

A/N: I’ve been finding some great Necromantic mood songs. Two of my favorites these days are “Song for a Siren” by the Jane Austen Argument, and “What Love Looks Like” by Mirel Wagner.


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