The kingdom was once the image of prosperity and joy; laugher filled the kingdom, smiles etched in the subjects faces. The king and queen holding balls for all to come and enjoy, to the people of the kingdom they were the epitome of love, the way they looked at each other, one could tell that for them only them two existed; they were each others oxygen, the way they danced across the ballroom demonstrated the harmony of their souls together.

That’s what one would say life was life until tragedy struck and the joyfulness and color of the kingdom had vanished with the death of the queen, sending the king into a dark abyss. The balls were now a mere memory, the king never seen except by his royal advisers, and few servants who caught a glimpse through the crack of a door.

Since the death of his beloved he had locked himself in his library becoming the only room he needed, books of spells and books of past mages and their research of death and awakening the dead. Osian, calling for the village mages, demanded a reversal of death, the smile on his face now replaced by furrowed eyebrows and eye bags getting angry at anyone who failed him.

Potion after potion, spell after spell, mage after mage they were all useless, incompetent in his eyes calling guards to drag them out, the once smiling kind king was a feared cold one. Until one night a mage brought a purple vial claiming to have revived flowers and animals with it, it peaked his interest, telling him to inject it straight into your heart.

That night he walked into the forbidden room where it was forbidden for anyone to enter who wasn’t him, the room with you in center surrounded by flowers he brought you, breathtakingly beautiful even like this. “Hello, my dearest, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, the mage kept rambling on and on” he whispered lifting your lip planting a gently kiss at the back of your cold hand.

“I think I found it my love…soon we shall once again be in each other’s embrace” he said softly carefully injecting the potion into your chest.