A wagon with its off-kilter wheel drove outside my window, its cargo bouncing as the driver felt the need to hit every pothole and raised rock that could exist on that street. There was also a couple arguing outside, something about one of them sleeping with their mother?

  Honestly, I was trying not to pay attention. I forgot how noisy a city could be with everyone smushed together. And it reeked! The house was too hot for the windows to be kept closed, but rather than inviting cool, fresh air – it smelled like people who didn’t bathe!

  Myrrh was upstairs tending to something or another, which kept my head up. A part of me envied her – never having to leave home and getting the time to do all the reading I could want. I could even learn new hobbies, like finally learning to play an instrument, or, more usefully, figuring out which insects work the best with which crops.

  But then I wouldn’t be able to farm. Or just go outside. I guess in my fantasies, I just got the good parts of it, and not the bad ones. And she’s really, really old. I’ll have to do something to fix that.

  Another task on my unending list of things to do.

  Anyways, that’s why, by 2 AM, I just couldn’t sleep. A big part of me knew I was hyperfixating on a minor problem to ignore the actual issue going through my head.

  Why am I so willing to go through with this?

  Realistically, at this point, I could just go live the life I kind of wanted. I can set up a Vegetable Shop and a Clinic, and focus on my roles instead. It’d be a lot easier, and honestly more legal, which might make Addy decide to stay.

  But then I wouldn’t advance. The world doesn’t assign quests that are beyond your capability or interests. They’re designed to be a measure of your ability and commitment – just a reasonable task that could confirm you belong here.

  And that’s why it’s so hard.

  I think it’s reasonable to conclude from everything I’ve seen, these quests are not only made for me, but by me. At least the part of me that compares myself to others.

  It’s a task I would have given myself, if I was asking what would a ‘better’ Ashley be able to do?

  The ‘better’ Ashley.

  I constantly want to be THAT Ashley.

  And that Ashley has a criminal empire to make more money. For what end?

  I don’t know.

  I could just stop now and just sell everything on the legal market. Sure, I won’t make as much money as selling underworld goods; but I was already pushing the bounds by using undead labour… which was actually being replaced by my friends.

  Ophelia wants power though, and that means making the Necropolis legitimate. Madeleine needs a lot of money, and Jasmine’s counting on me to… improve both of our lives? We’re already not at the risk of the poor house, so what else are we striving for?

  It would be a lot longer, but everything could still work out. And with the cult activity not being based around my farm, I’d be more or less legal.

  But that wouldn’t keep Adrian around.

  He’d just be mad at me since I… raise the dead? They’re already dead! He’s killed far more people than I have! I’m just repurposing their bodies for a bit, and their souls. It’s not going to make a difference if their alternative was suffering in torment for all eternity anyway!

  But he wouldn’t accept that.

  He’d say what Pa would say – “Princess, you’re just making a balk! You’re trying to take shortcuts and rush the work!”

  I’m not sure if he’d call me princess though. I mean, regardless, they’re both just wrong.

  I’m not taking a shortcut, I found a way to work that fits me. This isn’t an easy thing to do to solve a problem, and it comes back to that fundamental issue.

  Is an honest job worth it, or do I get to decide how I want to solve my problems? My results are the same, and I’m not hurting anyone. There’s far worse people than me.

  I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing. And I really don’t feel like I should be.

  “Except for Lyric Bay.”

  Her voice rang out, breaking me out of my thoughts. I hadn’t noticed that the world had gone silent.

  No, it was still.

  The vibrations of the wheels pounding against the paved stone? Gone. Mirchie’s heaving body against my chest in her small, needy breaths? Gone. Even the rays of moonlight revealing the intense amount of ROT in the air were paused!

  I shot up, even if I wasn’t sure I could rise. Mirchie was stuck to the sheets, still snoozing away perfectly perpendicular to the sky. I wasn’t sure why she couldn’t fall, but I put her and the sheet back just in case.

  Blue, waving flames licked to the sky in defiance to this forced stillness. The tips licked in mesmerizing patterns, catching my attention for far longer than I’d care to admit. It was only after I snapped out of it did I realize that it wasn’t making a sound.

  “Cetainly not, my sweetest daughter. No hamper to our conversation,” she said, and my attention pulled away.

  Ananke was Rhyvesta’s ‘mortal form’, even if knowing her name was forbidden in most modern empires. Her visage was kept secret to most, but I had seen it many times before.

  Her slender form was the same as the stone cutting – and even the mosaic I had in my cellar. Tall, impossibly tall that made the world bend around her. I was staring up at her from my bed on the first floor in a cramped city apartment.

  The world seemed to bend around and accommodate her, fixing its own geometries to confirm a statement that would normally be untrue: She was in the room.

  Draped over her body was the funeral shroud; tattered cloth that would normally flutter behind her like unravelling gravesilk during the hunt. Sitting still and so calmly at Levan’s table, that graveshroud looked far more like a mourning dress; dark, tasteful… and hiding her hands.

  Even from this posture, the unnatural length seemed to hide the bladed edge. But she was holding onto a teacup, and her fingers looked delicate on closer inspection.

  Her face was the exact same. Covered in the same mourning veil that my gifted attire had, all I could see was her crimson lips, and one shining eye. Every time I tried to focus, her visage shifted between two.

  While bathed in darkness, Ananke looked like the most beautiful woman I’d have ever seen, and I get to see Ophelia whenever I want. Her face was wreathed in shadows, but it didn’t stop her black hair sweeping either side of her head. Her crimson lips shone up as she brought… something to her lips, its end glowing in a bright orange blaze.

  Most of her face was covered in a black veil, only exposing her lips. Her hat was a black sunhat, with a gray ribbon, and three Black Dahlias. Her black hair shimmered between the ambient light of the moon, and the amber glow of… I assume it's a cigarette?

  Her pale skin was illuminated by the barest hints of moonlight, causing her to shimmer like a pearl. Her black dress drank in the light to seemingly shimmer, but the black flower on her left shoulder just seemed like a real plant.

  The dress ended far too casually for what I would expect of a goddess, cut off a few inches above her knees. Her legs were crossed, and her black heels bobbed in the air as she waited.

  But if I moved and saw her fully through the unmoving moonlight?

  The veiled shroud was all but tatters, hiding everything about her face. I knew there was a wrongness there, that lifting the veil was to look at death itself. Her hair was white but prehensile, dancing and weaving in like striking worms.

  The black dress was tattered rags, clinging to her skin and swaying in phantom winds. Her bony shoulder, her rotting biceps, and her elongated claws were on full display. Even in this form, her claws brought something to her lips, but in moonlight, it just seemed like a black stick.

  Between the two options, seeing her through the shadows fit my mind more. Both sides had this call towards her face, to lift the veil and peer at what lay underneath.

  It was just the shadowed form that I felt like I could resist.

  I stared at her from atop my bed, waiting for the vision to shift or the figure to disappear. Neither happened, so I trembled as I got out of bed.

  “If it pleases thou, thou may remain there. Otherwise, I have brewed some tea for our discourse,” Ananke said. Her voice was definitely female, but that sultry, dark tone was interlaced with an echo of other voices, speaking a moment after her main voice finished.

  I tried to open my mouth, but nothing would come out. Dry lips smacked against each other and my tongue found itself weak in my maw. I spluttered an errant whisper, cracking into the air and turning into nothing.

  Ananke chuckled, her velvet-gloved hand covering her lips as she rolled the black stick between her hands. The very end held a cigarette, and this contraption felt… unneeded.

  She glanced down at herself. “Thine eyes seeth a theatre-length cigarette holder, and my visage is from a time yet to be. It has happened, and will happen. My name is Necessity.”

  I slowly nodded, trying to keep my vision in the shadows. Her dress and style confused me, but the alternative look was far worse.

  But as the seconds passed, fear turned to boredom which turned to wonder, and my legs twitched in comprehension and command. I hesitantly stood up off my bed, and walked towards the hearth. Ananke’s hand raised to the sky, dimming the moonlight and letting the small crackling of the blue flames be heard from the muted atmosphere.

  I took the seat opposite of her, my eyes moving between her alluring, tempting face, and then feeling a primal fear; the same one that dawned when staring at a fall, or at a den of wolves. My eyes decided to watch the blue flames instead.

  “Would thou prefer a visage of thy Ma? I hath prayed that we would be able to converse in a form truer to us.”

  I shook my head, and finally turned my attention to her. I swallowed, and just let my head say whatever I could think of to break my fear and awkwardness.

  “Why are you wearing that?” I finally coughed out.

  Ananke tilted her head, but her black hair didn’t follow the motion. It was still wreathed around her head like a mane, refusing to fall or twitch – each strand remaining where it was. She then let out a frustrated breath. “La Signora is…” She paused in her speech, before bringing the cigarette holder up to her lips and inhaling. The ember at the end illuminated her crimson lips, bathing them in orange.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “..A face of The End that I personally enjoy because of a dear… ‘friend’... of mine. I hath gone by many titles; Lady Death, The White Witch, Abaddon, and my personal favourite - The Omega. La Signora comes from…” she paused again, before shaking her head. “...It would not make sense to you. She is the ‘Don of Dons’, the Queen of her family.”

  “..Don of Dons?” I repeated.

  Ananke took another inhale of her cigarette, and then released a cloud of black smoke. Finally, she shook her head. “Sweetest Daughter, I am not here to explain where the visage of Ananke comes from. Thy hath arrived at thine crucible, and I have more to ask of thee.”

  I just nodded. It didn’t feel like I had a choice when speaking to Rhyvesta, herself.

  “Thy will is thine own,” Ananke, again, interrupted my thoughts. “But before I task thee again, do you truly believe it is not thine own will?”

  I slumped into the chair, and moved my attention from Ananke to the blue flames. “I don’t know. I like farming, Mother, but the rest… I do not know.”

  “Yet, thou did as I hath asked,” Ananke said. I swallowed again, the lump in my throat refusing to disappear. “Sweetest… Ashley, my sweetest girl, I am thine judgment and thine Goddess. If thou wishes not to continue thine path, I will hold no umbrage. If thou wished to return back to thine Farm and manage what you hath now, I would not see it as a betrayal. I can not force thee to act – thy will is thy own. But…”

  My attention returned to Ananke, and my shaking hands reached forward. She just took another puff of her cigarette, and a cup of tea had… appeared? In my hand.

  I brought it to my lips. The water was warm, and had this odd taste of…

  “Pomegranate. It is my favourite fruit,” Ananke said, and that was something I felt like I could latch onto.

  “Why? That barely grows here,” I asked.

  “Persephone.” She immediately responded.

  “Who?”

  “A Maiden who had been brought to the world of the dead. She had eaten six seeds of a pomegranate, and her life was split between the world of the living, and the dead.”

  I pursed my lips, and just tried to think that through.

  “She’s not from this cycle, my dear.” Ananke said. Her casualness to that statement felt odd, and my brain twitched with the information.

  She took another puff, and her veiled head turned towards me. “...But, the consequences are thine own too, my sweetest daughter. If thou do retreat, what can I asketh of thee that would return you to my guidance? Thou hast my Gaze, but refusing me will not earn my Scorn – though, it is harder to earn favour than to lose displeasure.”

  My hands rubbed against my eyes, before I just slumped over. “So, I either do it, and continue earning your favour, or I refuse, and while I won't be hated, you wont be as close to me..”

  Ananke shook her head. “No, I will always watch my children. However, thine apprehension is from clinging towards thy mortal life. Thou art Persephone at the edge, holding onto the seeds. It is thine choice to eat and remain in the world below, or hold onto them till thy feel ready.”

  “Even if I stopped now, Addy woul–”

  “I do not care about Amaril’s Lapdog. I care about mine daughter and her growing distaste.” Ananke pulled up the cigarette to her lips. “Levan had said thou isn’t ready, but Levan is my disciple, not mine master. Thou will speak to me about Lyric Bay.”

  My mouth rightly shut up as Ananke cut me off. While her tone was the same, I had the sensation that this wasn’t about him. Just me.

  “I killed five children, Mother. To send Bazerie a message. They didn’t even do anything,” I slowly rattled. I tried to swallow, but my throat hurt.

  “Drink,” Ananke instructed. “I am not a Goddess of no consequence. I am not one that will offer the repentance or the gift of oblivion in thine memory. Thine actions are thine own. Thou did not have to do as I asked.”

  Neither of us said anything. I listened to the fire crackling, and forced myself not to see their faces.

  “I am glad thou hath done so, however. You are a murderer, Ashley, my daughter. Thou do not walk a path that Amaril or Flora or Elora or Mezadin or Danu would approve of.”

  She took a puff, and the black smoke rested in the air. “I am a murderer. I am the end, I am Abaddon, I am the Omega. Thou walks the path thine mother has walked and seen to the end. Am I not thine Goddess?”

  I shifted my eyes down. “I… don’t know,” I finally admitted. “I want to farm–”

  “Thou do not. If thine did, what happeneth to the mule of water that Lapdog had mentioned? Thou do not need thine level of my art to accomplish thine tasks. But as thou had thought – what would a better [Necromancer] do? Thy had always known. The Quests given to thee are not by thee, but by the world; a confirmation that thou can do what is necessary. Can thee, Ms. Ashley Hart?”

  “I really don’t know!” I shot back, my voice raising in frustration. “I… want too. But killing innocents? Killing kids?”

  “Killing bandits, the unjust, the criminals. Any foolhardy [Paladin] or [Necromancer] can accomplish these tasks, my daughter. But thou cannot stand in front of a crowd to defend one person, nor art thee expected too. Thou art not a [Knight] that holds to thine oath, and thou are not a [Rogue] that steals the stars from the sky. Thou art Death.”

  I pushed the ball of my hands into my eyes, feeling the pressure and pain to calm me down. “So, if I continue down this path, I’ll have to kill more?”

  “In a sense, my daughter. Thou art not the executor of mine will, but the interpreter. Your role in thine cult is to shepherd the dead and manage. The living is handled by a [Vampyre], and the executor is the [Reaper] – of which you are not. But none in the cult can believe that there is no murder of what the others call innocent.”

  “You don’t believe in innocence?” I said.

  I rose from the chair, feeling cold and tired. The pomegranate tea was fruity and sweet, but did nothing for my nerves. Hesitantly, I approached the cracking blue flames. The first step or two produced nothing, yet when the blue light started tinting my body, it was suddenly as if the world realized it should be warm.

  I coiled down, wrapping my arms around my knees to look into the fire. I heard footsteps behind me, and then felt the presence of someone sitting to my side. I turned my head, expecting to see the monstrous form.

  I did not. The world still seemed to bend around her, to make her impossibly tall form situated in the room. But she was still ‘La Signora’, the Don of Dons, whatever that meant.

  “Ashley. If that boy actually hath moved and decided to never see thou again, is he not dead? If he had died to bandits on the way, what difference would it make to thou? Regardless of the action, he would be gone from thine life.”

  “That's… not the same.” I said. “Adrian would still be alive. I would have the opportunity to see him.”

  “Dost thou? If he enforced the excommunication, what difference is he to thou from a corpse?”

  I frowned. “I don’t know! It feels different, okay?”

  “Exactly.” Ananke said. “I am Necessity. Inevitability. I am not kind, nor cruel. Death should be something that you understand as different. I prithee listen to me well; thou will not outlogic what thou are doing. And that is not a bad thing. Death is sacred. We are caretakers of the cycle.”

  I turned to face Ananke, and looked at her veil. Shimmering colors and emotions sparked through; the color of despair, of the end, of shadows – the color of feeling abandoned and alone.

  Yet, I couldn’t stop staring.

  “So, I just have to be fine with what I’m doing? Killing everyone to remind them that they’ll die?”

  Ananke shook her head. “My greatest, the [Necromancer], are Doctors – not priests. They are farmers – not harvesters. They create, tend, and manage life in all shapes, my daughter. But a Doctor must understand when her patient is terminal, and be allowed to minimize suffering. In another cycle I see, one ruled by Azadin, consent is all that matters. Not what’s best for a person, but their consent. They are allowed to sign away their lives, but are not allowed to be released from service. One can be made into a slave if they sign away their name, but is a criminal to offer said slave their permanent release.”

  “Couldn’t you just free the slave?” I shot back.

  “And do what after, Ashley? Care for them thine life? And what for the next? And the next?” Ananke stated. “Culling is necessary for all populations, and no hunter thinks what they’re doing is ‘good’. They see it as a ruthless mercy to prevent undue suffering; it is better to slit a deer’s throat then to let it limp along for the next weeks, slowly dying of blood loss.”

  I just shook my head, and leaned down. “But… that’s just comparing people to animals! It’s not better! I didn’t have to kill those kids.”

  “The Better Ashley you dream about is not a saint, my daughter. She is someone respected, feared, loved, admired, and left alone. To be that Ashley, thou needs to respect thyself. Thou seeks too much approval from Levan, Adrian, Ophelia, and even I. That Ashley can exist… but it isn’t a version of thou that exists without acceptance.” She took another puff of her cigarette, but didn’t exhale. “When I had asked thee of Lyric Bay, thine mind went to the children, and not the greater question: Why did thou do it?”

  “...You told me too.” I replied.

  “Two statements, my daughter. First, to attack the surface level question: I had told thee that thine could send Laertes, Ophelia, or the goblins to do it. I had also not selected that family, thine did. All I had requested was weeds to be dispatched and slugs to be taken care of.”

  My stomach twisted at her accusation, but her velveted hands touched my back. I didn’t shiver or pull away, and her hand softly rubbed against my spine.

  “Thou did wonderfully; and had pushed thyself far greater than I would have hoped. It is understandable thine art breaking, but thou conclusions were correct. To answer the secondary, more important question: Thou did not have to accept. Thou wanted too, because I had asked, because it proved something to thee: That thou is capable of what she puts her mind to. Thou just can’t hold the knife.”

  “So, what do I do?” I turned to Ananke.

  “Thou will start the Hart Necropolis in earnest. Thou will need a [Vampyre] and a [Reaper]. I have located a [Reaper] candidate for thee, to handle the less pleasant, but necessary parts of thine job.”

  I leaned towards the fire, letting the blue flames crack. “Do I give up being a far–”

  “Ashley. While I orient thee to thine next task, I want thee to consider a question. Thou are mostly correct that the world provides thee quests to prove thyself, but those quests are not created by thee. I know how it works and what it is trying to do. Thou does not. I want thee to think of an answer to this question – ‘What is a [Necromancer]? What is a [Paladin]? Ultimately, what is a ‘[Class]’.’ Is something stopping thee from being a farmer while improving thine craft?”

  I blinked at her and opened my mouth. “A class is… a set… of powers… that let you… do things?”

  Ananke shook her head. “No. If that is all it were, everyone would be a [Hero]. Very few people are, and amongst those that claim that title, many of them do not meet the thresholds to become a Mythic Figure. Think harder on that question.”

  Ananke moved her opposite hand, the one holding the cigarette holder into her dress, and pulled out a broken medallion.

  “I want thee to investigate this. Thou art a [Necromancer], and one of thine main duties is to shepherd the dead. Tomorrow, I want thee to traverse to the Wreck of the Phoenix Envoy. If thine had done thou job, thou will know who to look for, and something far more important will be waiting for thee.”

  I took the medallion from Ananke, and the silver chain held onto a burned coin. It was split in two, and the head of it was from… well, not the Phoenix Empire. The coin was circular with ragged edges, and written in a script I couldn’t understand.

  “What do I do with this?” I finally asked, twisting the coin-medallion between my fingers.

  “I will give thee one hint, Ashley. That is called a Memento Mori. Thou hast 24 hours before my candidate disappears.”

  I turned to Ananke and just blurted out the thing that was in my head. “So what, I find a [Reaper] to kill kids for me? That doesn’t make it better.”

  Ananke’s veiled eyes turned to me. “Ashley. Thou art a [Necromancer]. If thou does not wish to do what is expected of thee, thou can go home. But if thou wilt to see this path through – thou will have to make it better. I will not tell thee it is not something you will never do; thine mentor has done far worse in his study of medicine. Thou will do far worse than killing children. If it troubles thee, leave. But these actions must be thy own.”

  I nodded again. “If I had killed, I dunno, a tax collector overtaxing the population, would that be a slug or a weed.”

  “Does thee fix the populace by their death?”

  “Not likely, someone else would take their place.”

  “Five dead children does not do much either; the population will continue to grow.”

  “So, what, nothing I do has any impact?”

  Ananke finally turned to the flames, and watched it crackle too. “Thou art looking at this wrongly, Ashley. It is not about being good or evil, or efficient. It is about doing what is necessary. Adopting the long view – all actions have no impact – is the domain of the Gods and Elves. Adopting the short view – that culling a family that’s barely able to feed itself and removing a corrupt tax collector – handles a problem in the immediate.” The flame roared. “Neither of these views are correct.”

  Her finger pushed against my shoulder. “Thou bled on the soil, thou made a deal with the night-things, and thou made contact with me. Thou had stopped being a girl who wonders if what she is doing is good. Thou hast become a Woman who can decide if what she is doing is necessary. All I had to see was how far thou were willing to go. And it is fine if thou can’t do the killing thyself – that is the job for a [Reaper]. But thou must still lead.”

  Ananke slowly stood up. The impossibly tall woman still seemed to fit in the house, or more accurately, the house was made to fit around her. “To aid thee with my question, I would ask thee this: What does a [Necromancer] actually do? Do thee raise the dead to till the soil? Do thee torture the living to find immortality?”

  She took another puff of her cigarette, and then looked at the moon. “Find the [Reaper] if thou art truly unnerved by blood on thine hands. But know this, my sweetest daughter, that even that ‘Better Ashley’ will have to till the earth herself. And that earth is made of what we are.”

  The smoke surged for a moment, and when it finally disappeared, everything was gone. Mirchie squeaked, realizing her ‘mattress’ had moved to the Hearth, and the remnants of blue ash still wafted up the hearth.

  I turned the coin-medallion against my hand.

  I wanted to be that Better Ashley. It wasn’t just about the farm, but about me, and what I could do.

  Sleep didn’t come easily, but I had to rest. Then, I’d find my [Reaper].

  The correct answer to a lot of Rhyvesta's question is "What the fuck" or "No, there's definitely a better way than this" -- but thats also not really how a necromancer thinks. Congrats that youre not a psychopath if you thought that!