Slaying The Past

Darkness fell on the quaint and quiet village as the sun slowly finished its descent and the lights emanating from the houses died out. But one source of light and sound stood out like a beacon in the village centre; the church. The dancing light from braziers flooded out through the half open doors, and the soothing sound of prayer and chanting followed. The small church gave the impression that it was much larger when viewed from inside, the architecture making the most of the space available, and the hanging braziers strategically placed to add to the illusion. The large room was empty but for the priest kneeling down by the altar at the far end of the hall, offering his daily thanks and wishes to the Light on behalf of his flock now sleeping soundly in their beds. He prayed also for those he had lost, those he had failed to protect, his departed loved ones. He hadn't always lived in the sleepy village in which he now practised his calling, his birthplace had suffered greatly from the plague as it ravaged Lordaeron all that time ago. The years had healed most of his wounds and remedied his loss, but every night as he knelt alone, with only the Light as his witness, he would mourn. As he prayed and remembered, his eyes moistened until finally a couple of tears rolled down his cheeks and dropped onto the beautiful marble floor to the faintly audible sound of splashing.

Delicate tapestries fluttered and hanging braziers swung in the sudden draft from the doors as they opened wide. The priest stood up and turned around, startled. The braziers closest to the doors erupted in a cascade of sparks and embers as they were forcibly snuffed out by something unseen. A wave of darkness came towards the village priest as the rest of the braziers followed suit, enveloping him as he stood frozen in bewilderment. In the utter darkness and silence that followed, he could see nothing and hear only his own breath. He dared not move or speak, but then he heard a familiar female voice from the void around him. “Mikael... Do you mourn me?” The voice was cold and “wrong” somehow, but he'd recognize it anywhere. “Lidiya? You... You are... You died. I buried you myself.” His voice trembled with fear and confusion and he turned to try and face the direction of the voice. For seconds that felt like hours, there was only silence, but the familiar voice spoke again, much closer this time. “I'm here, right now. Reach out and touch me.” His hands shaking, Mikael reached out in front of him, grasping cautiously, searching for substance. His heart skipped a beat when he came into contact with something, an arm, covered in some sort of leather. “Feel me, Mikael, I have come back.” The voice was so cold, so monotone and lacking of emotional depth that it made Mikael shiver. Yet he couldn't help but hope against hope, that the Light he had served so faithfully for so many years had granted him this boon, granted him the return of his dead wife. Of course she would seem strange; she was clearly confused after her resurrection.

“Lidiya, I... I've been so alone... I failed you, couldn't protect you... I buried part of myself with you that dark day...” He grasped both of Lidiya's arms and sobbed. Lidiya moved silently across the floor, embracing Mikael; her skin felt cold and dry against his cheek. “Hush, I know, none of that matters now.” She pulled away slightly before locking her flaking lips to his in a passionless kiss. The moon rose to shine its eerie light through the painted glass windows, letting it touch the married couple as the kiss ended. Mikael opened his tear-filled eyes to look upon his wife. Her decaying face was partially covered by dark cloth and leather, as was the rest of her body. She was so thin. Something reminiscent of a smile polluted her face as she walked around and behind the stunned priest. With a lightning fast move, she drew a dagger from her belt and, holding Mikael's head with her free hand, slit his throat. “I forgive you.”