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Ceremonial crimson candles cast an ominous shadow amongst the room that hides the secrets of a killer. The wicks slowly burn towards their inevitable end, the ritual already underway. Room sixty-four lies bare of any of its previous furnishings. A salt ring lies in the middle. Nothing lies within the ring; not even the light from the candles dares to touch it. For it is crowded with the souls of the damned. The demonic entities are praising the one that helps their master rise from his grave.
A bowl of rose water lies right outside the ring. A figure clad in cloth blacker than the hearts of men. A veil covers their face as they mutter ancient incantations only known by a chosen few. They mutter them fervently, almost obsessively. Again and again in a seemingly never-ending loop.
Their knees ache from kneeling for so many hours. Their heart aches more—your heart aches more. Your heart beats for the man you are resurrecting: James Patrick March. Your JPM. Your beloved fiancé. The one you saved from that wretched woman. The Countess may have felt nothing for the darkness, but you feel everything. You slit her neck, and her tower of power crumbled beneath your feet. You filled the hole in his soon-beating chest.
You coat your numbed hands in the rosewater. One of the final steps in his resurrection. Having an affinity for death and necromancy since childhood finally came to fruition. Without his original body, you had to haggle a few souls in the Cortez for a demon to create a new one for him. In that moment, it was all worth it.
You stand as your hand reaches into the salt circle. The shadows receded as the flames of the candles cast them away. The dance between the devils and the darkness intertwined into both of your souls. He calls out to you like a spellbinding siren's song. From the depths of the shadows comes your true love.
His body was exactly that while in his ghost form. His ravenette strands still ever slicked back. The trimmed mustache of his sitting proudly above his top lip. His toned body was proudly suited to those three pieces. His neck slit is now healed, but the scar is apparent.That charming smile, goddesses, it looks even better now.
"You are reborn as a warlock, my love. Immortal. Alive." Your words are hoarse and barely escape your cracked lips.
Your shaking hands are struggling to listen to the commands that your mind is giving them. Your left thumb barely touches his cheek before he has dragged you across the circle, separating the salt circle and making it incomplete. You couldn't even begin to care, as the ritual is complete. You are held in his deathly, loving grip once again.
"Indeed, darling. I am now the most famous serial killer, both alive and dead." He whispers fervently as he places feather-light kisses on each of your knuckles. "We shall wed in a few days time. Our consummation will finally be with the both of us living."
Your frayed wings and broken halo appear for a single moment. After all, you cannot risk using your abilities too often. Lest the angels hunt you or the devils wish to make deals for your power. Once a mighty angelic being is now only the shell of one. Your wings are nothing more than bone, and your halo floats above your head in pieces. More fragments of your once-heavenly halo chip off and fall every day. Further tethering you to the mortal realm.
You wrap the bones around his body as tears fall from your otherworldly eyes. His oddly tender hands wipe the tears away. He brings each finger up to his mouth as he tastes your sadness. A pleased smirk appears on his features as he places a teasing kiss on your delicate temple.
"You taste absolutely divine." He purrs gently as he tugs your waist closer towards him. "I cannot wait to taste you even more after our dinner tonight."