Pointed digits rapped along the walls of the abbey, their metallic clink dulled by the cacophony of screams in the distance; I hoped that they would not be too distracting.
While my horde of undead underlings held the nunnery hostage, a peculiar unease had possessed me—I was troubled.
A necromancer, and a Dread Champion at that, anxiety or self-doubt were the vestiges of a long-dead humanity. Yet here I was, ashamed of my fallen state. How could I not be? Where my flesh ended and where the rusted plates of a soul-devouring pariah began was indiscernible; a panoply of oxidized iron that reeked of death. Tentatively, I tapped a gauntleted fist upon a simple door.
"Enter," came the reply, so soft and sheepishly naïve that it stirred some long lost aspect of my corrupted soul, "I am modest!"
This was the moment of truth. I crouched inside, kneeling to slip under the worn doorframe.
Shame overwhelmed me as I laid eyes upon her. The object of my desires—the wilting flame of my humanity—was in the middle of brushing her hair, she'd yet to turn and behold my corruption. She was the embodiment of purity and grace, ivory locks accentuated by the stoic black of her habit. "Nalia," I croaked, desperate; it had been so many years. "You live..."
"My love? Is it truly you? You live!" Nalia's voice quivered
I dare not touch her, to reveal the nature of my transmogrified flesh, "Yes, my sweet, I live."
"Forgive me for ever losing faith, for doubting your survival! When the wraiths came to our village—when the took you and the others—I was so alone!" Ebon tresses fell over her shoulders like a waterfall, cascading down to frame her face. Nalia's hands shook, and she grasped at the hem of her habit, holding it against her chest.
Nalia's recollection of our village's fall was correct; I had been taken, subjected to a fate far worse than death. I now served the same forces that had brought us so much pain, a champion of corruption. Yet for the twenty years that I served, raging against all sense of reason and decency, Nalia quelled these vulgar appetites.
"I am here, my love," I said, my voice still too low to be heard above the din outside. I stepped closer to her, careful to avoid touching her.
She tilted her head up, a gesture of hope, of trust, "The sisters have been so kind to me..." She trailed off, "I never gave up hope; I knew you would return!"
"I'm sorry, my love," I whispered, my voice breaking, "I did not know how long it would take."
Her expression hardened, "You are the one who has suffered most. I can hear it. What have they done to you, my love?" Her face was flushed with pain, the tears now an uncontrollable stream. Nalia could not see what I'd become, yet my lost sweetheart knew my essence; the corruption upon my soul and flesh all too felt. "Let me soothe your pain, after all this time."
I tried to speak, but no words came forth. My throat was parched and dry, my lips cracked and flaking away. I recoiled, "My love, please...I cannot..."
"It is alright," she reached out to touch my face, "Whatever has become of you, I know you can be kind and just."