The dead should stay dead, it is a fact many know to be true. When death hath laid his icy hands on the ones that you love, you may fight him, yell at him, curse him, but you cannot curse the damned. The cannot fight the immortal traveler who roams the earth, ready to take those who have served their time.
Perhaps that is why the powerful think they can cheat death, that they can just use their title as a tool to knock on death's front door and demand unspoken. Death never answers and for good reasons. But there are those who still are persistent, I guess that is why I was called here, to this darkness around me which makes my entire body cold. Hands clasping the glass staff in my hands, I allow myself to cross further into a darker magic mother once warned me of. Never allow the temptations to take over, those words spiraling through my mind as I try and remember the woman who raised me. She was a woman who used darkness in her favor, the world seeing her not for the woman she was within the palace walls when no one was around but me. She told me there was a line of the darkness one could use, a line that separated the damned from those whose souls could still be saved. I guess her lessons did not stick with me after all, for here I stand, doing what she told me to never do.
A witch at my side and a whole future of possibilities ahead, I take in a deep breath, knowing that this could possibly bring back the one thing in life I had loved and lost.
There she is, death unable to drain her of her youthful beauty. Brunette locks that fall to her waist, the crown of a Queen placed on her head, and those eyes I once always wished I could look at forever are shut. An eternal slumber, unknowing of the disturbance that will pluck her from the afterlife and back into the world that has not finished serving her.
Hand reaching out, my fingers press against her cold back, pulling in into my warmth as I can feel the tugging at my heart and soul. The pain that erupts as well, for all magic has a price that cannot be paid off with a simple currency.
Sybil was never ready to die, for death had played a cruel trick, but I fear that he took more than her life, but her personality as well. They say the dead will never feel like they belong with the living, but all that matters to me is making sure she is not dead a minute more.
Body pulled through the vortex and placed back into the room where the brick walls spiral around me, I look to the witch, thanking her as she looks to the limp beauty in my arms.
"Not one word to anyone," I order, voice stern as I bare my canines at the petite woman. The witch nods, looking to the woman in my arms.
"The dead should stay dead, Zion, even if she was your wife."
Sybil lays still in my arms, not a day of aging present as a tear from my eyes falls upon her cheek, gently rolling down as I am at a loss of words. "It was not her time...and it will not be her time until we have lived our lives together with happiness."
"You used darkness to bring her back, I cannot promise she will be the same," the witch informs, reminding me of the first time we met, how she told me the risks of this.
"She will."
YOU ARE READING
Sybil (Completed)
Werewolf《《 Sequel to Zion 》》 The dead should say dead, for death hath laid his hands on them for reasons to never question. It took her death to find out the truth. <> Book Three of the Broken Crown Series (Can be read without book 2) "It was not...
