Sooo...I received a dare to write this from the lovely LovefromSlytherin-AMLF/:iconpandas-and-pocky:
It had was based off of this picture I had found...and it had to be 618 words in all.
Is it good?
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Necromancer
The moon shines down in ripples of silver and gold, casting over the slightly tan skin of the man standing proud in the midst of the many graves. His crimson spikes fall just past his shoulders, a stark contrast to darkness around him. Emerald eyes rest under lush red lashes as he blinks, eyes sweeping slowly around each of the tombstones and monuments.
The ebony tux adorning his lanky frame hugs his body as a wind lashes about the tresses, tugging the the equally black hat from the top of his head. Stray tears leak from his eyes as he can't hold himself up any longer. The jacket, over the white button-up shirt, flaps open while he sits down on a tombstone, not caring at all for respecting the dead.
Why should he when everything he did failed? He tried to keep the one he loved alive. But that only got him so far, it only drove that person away...right into the path of a car to die before his very eyes. The funeral almost killed him. It was just stepping on the shattered pieces of his very being. Which is when he remembered all those books his love had read.
Necromancy. Black Magic. Sorcery.
He didn't believe that it could work, but he was more than willing to try. Book after book he read for a week, not to mention all the other information he had gathered from many other sources. It didn't matter. He had failed. It was why he was in this god-forsaken cemetery in the first place, to see if his spell had worked...to see if one wish could become real.
An elbow dug into his knee as his face rested in his palm, eyes closed as tears welled up in them. The other arm hangs down, a single red rose held ever-so-gently between his index finger and thumb. He lets it slip from his fingers, drifting over to the grave right before him, the headstone much newer than those around it.
Dead leaves scatter over the fall ground, twirling over the still freshly broken dirt of the grave. For it'll stay fresh for just a little while longer.
"Axel.~" comes the soft coo of a voice he thought he'd never hear again, the deep yet soft voice that belonged to the amazing man he loved. Nimble fingers wrap around his upper arm, torso pressed firmly against his back. A slim arm clad in identical attire as Axel's, drapes over the redhead's shoulder, that single bloody rose pressed against his chest. "I've been waiting for you. You always said you would never leave me Axel."
He straightens up back against the firm figure. Fingers trail up his shoulder and drape over his shoulder, just as the other hand balls itself in the shirt on his frame. Axel tilts his head back and slightly to the side, enough to see the delicate curve of jaw and thin blue lips. Axel reaches his hand up, fingers twining in blue-gray tresses as navy eyes bore into his own. Their lips meet, heat and cold conflicting like life and death, but winding together in the middle of it all.
As he opens his eyes, they couldn't grow more wide.
Hollow eye sockets stare at him. The once sturdy jaw now slack and the fingers cupping his chest now void of flesh and muscle. "Z-Zexion...!"
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The next morning all that was found...was an ebony hat and a dying red rose.