The usual flocks of crows watch me as I stand over the opened grave, my spellbook in my right hand. Rise, I mean… I COMMAND you to rise from the grave and serve me! A few feeble green sparks sputter, then die out Why is it that even the dead wont listen to me? I sigh and flip through the pages. Maybe they were right. I am nothing but a washout...
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14Elena Brite
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