Sunday, 30th June, 2010.
The night welcomes us, draws us in. We are the Necromancers, and we let it.
We are the Necromancers, 'chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon'.
We are the Necromancers, hated and despised by those not our own.
We are the Necromancers, humble and plain, preparing for the day our saviour shall reign.
The dark haired girl laughed coldly. Poetry wasn't her strong suit in the way it hadn't been Shakespeare's. She could be attempting something completely prosaical and it would turn out vaguely rhyming.
She pulled on the dark garment that would represent 'piety', as it were, and walked out of her small room. It was hardly the best, but it was the room in which her mother had died. That held a certain attraction.
The endless night shall be ours, should we choose to take it.
The choice rests upon us, should we choose to make it.
The time is nigh, should we choose to wrest it.
The future's clear, and the past, should we need to best it.
The assembly of Necromancers was hushed, and the pure power swelling in the air beautiful. It was the time for the Novices to prove themselves worthy of the Temple, or to leave it. No one really wished to contemplate the latter, but there were whispers…
The new girl was too impetuous. Too bright. She was a danger. A complication.
Death draws near, hugging her sable cloak.
Swinging her dark scythe.
Weeping her furtive tears.
Death draws near,
And we shall meet her.
"I refuse to take the place of my Ancestors. I renounce the upbringing of my family. I will take the path unbeat and follow Destiny. This is my choice, and my choice alone."
"So it shall be."
The night welcomes us, draws us in. We are the Necromancers, and we let it.
We are the Necromancers, 'chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon'.
We are the Necromancers, hated and despised by those not our own.
We are the Necromancers, humble and plain, preparing for the day our saviour shall reign.
A/N: This was my entry for the 'Endless Night' competition on FaceBook's Skulduggery Pleasant FanPage. It did not win.
The quote 'chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon' was taken from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Sunshine and laughter and dead butterflies~
Sweethearted.