nerissa;

t h e   n e c r o m a n c e r

Snow cloaks the Denoctian landscape, drenching the earth, strangulating nature. Oh, but nature is not so easily conquered by a few heaps of snow; nature has learned, nature has evolved. Even in the depths of winter do the birds still sing, the squirrels still play, the deer still wander—but Nerissa wouldn't know.

The smell of death is not so easily conquered by sweetness. Wherever the girl goes, so does the lingering scent of decay. Nature slinks back from the smell of the dead; disgustedly do the birds fall silent, the squirrels retreat, and the deer recoil from the trail of the necromancer. Maybe she smells like this because she spent too much time with her mother's rotting cadaver, or perhaps the odor is caused by the bracelet pried from a corpse that now rests on her ankle. Some say she collects dead things, others say she is the dead thing; she is a zombie studying necromancy because her maker perished, and she wants to raise an undead army in his stead.

Who knows? Only Nerissa, who no one cares to ask.

And so, in the wake and in the path of the lilac girl, all life retreats, all rumors bloom. The girl is used to it. She does not notice her smell, or the whispers; she is fixated wholly on her supernatural goal. At the gates of the Night Court, and the bustling, lively markets of the gypsies, Nerissa finds an inkling of a long forgotten feeling begin to swell in her speckled breast. She spent a year and a half searching, seeking, desperately begging for answers from strangers who had none. But maybe, hopefully, there is someone here who has a shred of an answer; just a glimpse, a piece, a tiny corner of an explanation is all the girl needs.

Nerissa smiles for a moment. Desires, prospects, and dreams gathered so nicely all in one place, she contemplates the impossibilities Denocte holds.
'This will do,' she tells herself quietly, 'this will do.'

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forgive me, I am so incredibly rusty ;-; anyway, an even die roll, so nessa's staying cheery!
@Reichenbach <3