Twisted Blood Magic creates an Uncontrollable Monster ~ *Sing a Graveyard Song*

Dark Fantasy. Twisted Blood Magic. A Blood-Drinking Monster.

Sing a Graveyard Song

Harroth, recently dead, brought by to renewed life ~ but his renewed existence is foul and corrupted, all to work the will of a vengeful and thwarted wielder.

Here's an Excerpt from Chapter 1.

Dawn, Second Day

When he awoke, he knew he was dead.

He had dreamed a pleasant warmth, a light as brilliant as a summer sun, a free-ness of self, unhampered by bones and flesh, free as the wind, drifting like a leaf on water.

He woke to cold, dampness, and a light flickering against the pitmirk. His skin felt slick as a new-born babe’s. A rasping breath filled his ears. A woman, face haggard and hair wild, loomed over him.

She smiled when she saw his eyes open. She spoke, garbled words he didn’t understand, but when she pressed something to his lips, he recognized the offer to eat.

He opened his mouth. She pushed it past his teeth. He chewed. It was soft and slick. Liquid gushed from it into his mouth. He swallowed and felt the bite track its way to his stomach. More meat was offered. He took it, chewed, feeling strength return with the nourishment. He said nothing, asked nothing, not even how she had revived him. The last moments of his life had dragged him through pain and fever, unending heat as poison writhed through him and slowly killed him. That he remembered. He thought he knew her, but he couldn’t recall her name. He couldn’t remember how to form words. He could remember nothing but breathing and moving and ceaseless pain.

But he remembered his name. Harroth. That was who he was. What he was he no longer knew. Where he was he didn’t care.

She put her hands on both sides of his head. Her eyes closed, and she sang something. The wailing melody sucked his senses into a maelstrom of need and grief. Her hands felt like fire. The heat penetrated his skull, seeped into his veins, hardened his bones.

After more food, she levered him up and propped him against the wall. His eyes rolled back at the change of position, but gradually his awakened body steadied and he could look around without being swamped by dizziness. He saw a single candle, a shiny bowl made of a metal he had forgotten, a bottle on its side.

She lifted a flask to his lips. A thick liquid filled his mouth, tasting strange, tasting rich, tasting like life. He swallowed.

Twice more he drank. She offered more meat.

Harroth stared at the raw flesh, dripping with what he remembered was blood. He opened his mouth and ate.

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