‘It worked. You owe me fifty.’

She stands in the doorway, dark hair still as beautiful as the day she was buried.

‘Come on, Lissette, you know this could’ve happened,’ she pushes past me, and steps into my (our) house. She’s not wrong. I follow her inside as she takes in the changes. It had been her idea. Figuring out how to rise from the dead, with a pulse, clear eyes, ‘in style,’ she always added.

‘A new chandelier? And you finally replaced the flickering light bulb,’ she reaches up to tough one of the crystal drops, her ring’s glow reflecting in the structure. Those had been her idea as well, though I had been the one to build them. It was to tell me if she rose, though it also functioned as tribute. With her wits and her strength, it’d been almost certain she’d been successful, but as I was making the rings, I’d been hoping, just a bit, that it would fail.

The crunch of an apple soon brings me out of my thoughts—it’s red, those were (are) always her favourites. Her hand reaches over to touch mine, and her eyes have the same fire I fell for. She paused, lowering the apple.

‘I haven’t seen you in a long time,’ she says, softly.

‘But,’ she continues, walking around the countertop to my side,’your beauty always remains.’

I reply with, ‘You’ve been dead for seven years, Beatrice,’ It didn’t take much to know what she was going to ask next, after all. She leans in, and her breath on my neck is warm, like she had never been buried at all.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘I’ve a lot of work to do. Things must have seriously changed, and I didn’t die nor rise to do nothing with it.’

For that matter, she hadn’t died for anything. We’d both promised that we’d find out the results to her theory when the reaper came. In the end, she died doing her job, answering the call. The day leading up to it had been uncommonly peaceful, the two of us spending the morning lying in the sun.

‘So, what has changed?’


‘Yes? There’s things to be done. The dark might be resting, but it’ll notice my rising soon,’ she says curtly, stopping in the threshold to my (our) room.

‘Where are you going to go with this?’

‘I don’t know, but I’ve found something powerful, and I’m damned if I won’t use it to help others and prevent harm. Why do--’

‘Beatrice, you’re old, and I’m older. It’s been seven whole years. How long are you planning to stay like this? I’m not going to live forever, and I’m not sure I want to.’

She stops, turns around, and stares.

‘...You always said you’d get some rest when you were dead,’ I add.

‘Lissette, I’m sorry. I know we’re both old. I don’t know how long I’m going to do this. We’ll figure something out, you’re smart like that. It’s your choice, but regardless of what will happen, I love you, and I won’t be forgetting that. How about we just lay in bed and talk about this? We can get around to the legal ramifications of my return next week, I know you’ll love untangling that.’

‘I will, but it doesn’t beat being with you again.’