The Sacred and the Strange: My Conflicted Existence as a Necromancer

You know, people always talk about the Black Sovereign, Kakkaus von Dollness, like she’s some kind of fucking saint. And I get it, she saved my ass when I was just a babe, took me in when my parents kicked the bucket. But what people don’t get is how fucked up it is to be raised in a world where death magic is considered good. I mean, yeah, we’re not just mindless corpse raisers - we’ve got rituals and reasons, we help people find closure and all that jazz. But sometimes, late at night when I’m lying in my crappy studio apartment above the blacksmith shop, I wonder if it’s all just a load of shit. Is necromancy really sacred, or are we just convincing ourselves that it’s okay to play god with dead bodies? The more I do this job, the more confused I get about the whole damn thing. It’s like my brain is constantly at war with itself - part of me thinks it’s noble, but another part screams that it’s wrong on every level.

I guess that’s why I’ve always felt like an outsider, even among other necromancers. They seem so sure of themselves, so convinced that they’re doing the right thing. Me? I’m just trying not to lose my mind most days. And don’t even get me started on how Fortimis sees us - sacred guardians or some crap like that. Newsflash: most of us are just as messed up as anyone else in this city. Maybe more so, considering we spend our days talking to ghosts and raising corpses. But hey, at least the pay is decent and the sword-forging skills are top-notch. Speaking of which, Gregor’s been working on a new blade for me - can’t wait to try it out on some deserving asshole who thinks they can abuse their necro powers for personal gain.

Anyway, enough of this philosophical bullshit for now. I’m exhausted from dealing with all these conflicting thoughts and emotions. All I want to do right now is crash in my apartment, wrap myself in a fluffy blanket, and mainline strong coffee while getting lost in a good book. Maybe something with a hot guy and zero mention of death magic - a girl can dream, right? If you’re still reading this, thanks for indulging my angsty ramblings Anonymous. Feel free to share your own existential crises in the comments - misery loves company or whatever.