Promise

Hello, my darlings. I've been unwell. Illness is violence. But the vampires drained my blood. And the necromancers used their magics. And out of the ash, they brought me back again. Like Lady Lazarus.

There are so many deaths in life. We all suffer losses -- small deaths -- throughout the course of our lives. Some return. Some we must let go. It is never easy. It is always agony.

But necromacy is a black magic. To hold on to something beyond its death, is dark and it is unnatural. What is dead, is gone and can't ever grow because it lacks hope and promise. What comes back from death can't hold the light like the living. We hate death. And we fear endings. But old endings bring new beginnings.

All of my past, lies in necromance. In the agony of being reborn. My necromancers courted me back beyond death again, and again. Back to a something. Back as a nothing. And it has taken me almost thirty years of pained life experience to realise that perhaps, immortality isn't so grand. After all, even the mythological phoenix firebird is only ever destined to live for as long as its old self. And in the end, the phoenix always burns to death in a fierce fire that reduces it back to black smoke and ash. Only to have to come back again, and again, to live out the same fate in a world without end. I'd rather not suffer my fate repeatedly, thank you.

Instead, I'd much prefer to live my deaths. And I will mourn them. And I want all my new beginnings to run their natural courses to become my old endings. Because in the end, what I want for my fate is for new life to breathe into me a fresh and happy hope.

I am back. I am well. Life is grand. And full of promise.