Cora wandered a dark corridor in a strange place. The walls were covered in tan plaster that was cracked and peeling away. Candle sconces were spaced evenly along the walls several feet apart, and the nearly spent candles were little more than stubs with pools of dried yellow wax on the dusty marble floor beneath them. At one time this place must have been a sight to see, but now it was merely a rotten husk of its former self. She walked by moldy skeletons and scraps of clothing. Maids that died face down, probably fleeing some terror.
It was a horrible scene, but Cora found herself numb to the terror of it. Something about this place had become familiar to her and it no longer stirred any revulsion within her. She walked with a purpose she didn’t recognize, but also didn’t question. She knew the way, but not the how or why. The end of the corridor loomed ahead, getting closer.
There was someone waiting for her beyond the charred door. Someone she hated, but also felt compassion for. So many memories were being hidden behind a veil, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to pull it aside. She also knew somehow that there was only one path, and no matter what direction she chose this door would eventually greet her.
She turned the brass handle that was carved in the image of a wing, but had turned green from years of exposure. Warm light spilled into the corridor along with the smell of spice and dried flowers. It was an exotic scent, unique to one person alone.
“Hello, dear Cora.” Vira greeted as though they were neighbors on the friendliest of terms. “Welcome back.”
Cora studied the girl for a moment. Half of her face was that of a beautiful girl no more than seventeen years of age with refined features and a single striking light blue eye. The other half was pure nightmare fuel. It was a polished skull, set in a perpetual grin with a single dot of sickly green light glowing from within the eye socket. Her petite body was similarly divided. Her open lab coat revealed half of a full breast, and clear, smooth, peach colored skin on one side. The other half was exposed sternum, a rib-cage, and within that, a steadily beating heart floating all alone and not seemingly connected to any arteries or organs. At one time this sight must have shocked and mortified her, but Cora was unmoved. She simply took the seat across from the standing Vira.
“How many times have I been here?” Cora asked without breaking eye contact with her host.
“Enough times for those cute green eyes to go from scared bunny to dead fish.” Vira answered, smiling with the human half of her face as she took her own seat across the short coffee table.
“Where is this?” Cora asked, knowing the answer would not be satisfactory even before Vira responded.
“This is a memory of mine. It’s my family’s home when I visited it more than fifty years after it was destroyed. Specifically it’s my father’s study. He enjoyed nice things. To answer your next question, we’re both inside your head. I’m manipulating the same machinery that makes your dreams to fabricate this space. Fancy right? Aren’t I amazing?” Vira stood up and took a dramatic bow as she explained.
“You are in a great deal of pain aren’t you?” Cora asked the question suddenly out of some intuition she couldn’t quite explain.
Vira’s face flashed in anger for just a split second before returning to the manic playful expression. “I’m a lich, an undead with power beyond your feeble comprehension! I cause pain, not the other way around.”
“Yet here we are again, in your father’s study.” A sudden string of memories flitted through the veil into Cora’s mind. “The tortured girl who watched her daddy die before her eyes brings her only source of companionship in the universe to his rotted home to deny that she cares. It’s as foolish now as it was the first time we did this. I remember now. You need my body but couldn’t drive me out at first. And now you’re not sure you could go through with it even if you were able.”
“Shut up! You know nothing, human worm.” Vira cried, unable to stifle her emotion.
“I know that there are memories you hide from me.” Cora maintained a gentle tone. “What happened after your father died?”
Vira slumped back down into her chair and a teapot and two cups materialized on the short table along with a small tray of white frosted cookies cut into cute animal shapes.
“I won’t take you there, but I’ll tell you.” Vira abandoned her usual mannerisms and slipped into what Cora recognized as her normal self. The one she never showed the world. That somehow made Cora happy in a very strange way.
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Vira leaned back in her old wooden chair, and prepared to confront the memories that were known to none but herself.
“The night my family was murdered happened over three hundred years ago in a country very far to the south, even past Red Isle. The elven empire was expanding rapidly into our territory and my father was the lord of a territory near the northern border where the fighting was the worst. I didn’t know any of this at the time since I was only a small child. One night, a mob of my father’s own people came to our estate. They were overtaxed, hungry, afraid, and desperate. All that negativity turned to rage and resentment toward the ruling family, my family. They ransacked the estate. They killed my brothers and uncles quickly, but the females of the family were less fortunate. To spare me that fate, my father carried me to the only safe place on the property. You have seen the memory of that moment, my father died at the feet of our ancestors.” Vira paused to take a sip of the imaginary tea before she continued.
“My name is Vira Zenova, and in ages past that name carried weight as belonging to the greatest family of magic users to ever exist. Many of our ancestors, most notably the two brothers Dargan and Aghma became the first of the Zenova liches after their deaths. They continued to follow their passion for knowledge in peace beneath our estate. My grandfather foolishly abandoned magic and had the tomb sealed. It was only in his desperation that my father took me to them. In the beginning I was as scared of them as you were of me. They never asked for my acceptance, affection, or gratitude but they never failed to provide me with everything I would need to thrive. They were not kind, but they were not cruel. They simply were. As years passed I grew less afraid and more curious. When I was seven, I picked up my first spellbook and was nearly blinded by the protection ward within. One of my ancestors whom had forgotten her own name over the long centuries began teaching me to read and write. That led me to begin the study of magic. In human terms I was a prodigy but among them I may as well have been a flea.” Vira said, taking another pause.
“I know the feeling of being small.” Cora said, looking thoughtfully at the girl across from her.
“I’m aware.” Vira replied, looking down slightly. “Anyways, I grew to understand the liches’ way of life. To a lich every universe is nothing but magic to be explored and we love every moment of it. All mysteries are equal in our eyes, we hold no more contempt or affection for humans than we do for mice or dandelions. It is that sense of equality that humanity hates above all. You’ll gladly ignore the screams of a rabbit as it frantically tries to return to its babies while the arrow through its body won’t allow it to enter the burrow. You enslave entire species and harvest their flesh on a whim. You decimate entire ecosystems to build your homes. Yet the undead who impact life at a nearly zero sum are the evil ones. Laughable.” Vira spat, obviously nearing a sensitive topic.
“Indeed life is cruel, and humanity wears the crown.” Cora nodded, accepting the indictment as though she had heard it many times. “What happened next?” She asked, needing to know the rest of this strange girl’s story.
“I grew in magical knowledge rapidly. I began to call the nameless lich ‘Mama’ out of some stubborn human instinct. She never corrected me, and deemed the title useful in communicating with me. After two years of working with her, the eldest lich Dargan began teaching me higher tiered magic which included the creation of undead. I was able to animate small things at first. Rats and lizards mostly. They may have been mindless but I cherished them like pets and friends. More years passed, and I continued to learn and grow.” Vira suddenly stopped talking and shut her human eye. Cora noted that the green glowing eye also went dark as she did.
“One day when I was seventeen, a horrible crash echoed through our quiet sanctuary. A party of adventurers with two arch priests and three very powerful paladins had come to destroy my family for no better reason than their very existence. Mama and Dargan left Aghma and the others to defend the upper floors, and they took me to the deepest level of the catacombs. Even as they prepared me for some ritual I didn’t understand, I could feel my brethren above being snuffed out one by one as triumphant cries echoed down to us. It was then that Mama spoke to me.
‘We pure undead cannot defeat these intruders, but there is a way that you can. If you accept you will never live as a human again. Do you wish for the power to avenge our family even at that cost little Vira, my precious daughter?’
It was the first time she had acknowledged that she thought of me as her child. I accepted even as I wept, for in my mind if there was one thing I wanted to reject it was the filth of humanity.” Vira paused and looked at Cora.
“I might have felt the same way.” Cora said as she reflected on the tale so far.
“The ritual was completed just as the adventurers arrived. Mama and Dargan willfully sacrificed themselves to transfer all of their knowledge and power into me. At the same time they cast a unique spell that turned me into this form so that my body could withstand the ancient powers now available to me. Because they couldn’t see me clearly and their detect undead powers didn’t identify me as an undead the fools approached as if they were my valiant rescuers.
‘It’s alright young lady, the foul creatures are dead now. You’re safe.’
Their words turned my stomach. My first spell melted the plate armor of two of the paladins. I still see their flesh bubbling in my mind. My brethren had weakened them, and I was now more powerful than any of the liches they had faced.” Vira’s eyes now burned in remembered rage.
“Their Turn Undead was rejected and the priests cried out as though forsaken by their gods. Then they cried out again as I tore their lives from them. I showed them no mercy, and they became my first undead servants. To this day they’re still my most powerful and they guard my family’s tomb and the secrets of the Zenova liches.” Vira stopped talking and cocked her head as though listening to something distant.
“What is it?” Cora asked.
“Your father and the hag are taking us to your mother in hopes that the child goddess can separate us. That’s unfortunately impossible even if I were to allow it.” Vira replied.
“Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, after my transformation I stayed in the tomb for a time, adjusting to my new form and grieving the loss of my family. Perhaps a decade passed, and I decided the tomb was no longer a place I could call home, and I set out to find my place in the world. It was a simple matter to hide my appearance with illusions but somehow people still knew I was different and I was shunned everywhere I went. One day an elemental I summoned attacked a wandering group of monster hunters that trespassed near my camp. I dismissed the summon and the hunters mistook that as me easily defeating a mighty elemental. I was suddenly famous and welcomed as a protective entity. The Wooden Queen they called me for over a century, mistaking me for some goddess. People left offerings of gold, food, potions, books and scrolls. Some prayed for rain, others for sun, some for love, others for vengeance against their lovers. Being a deity was an amusing distraction and so I lingered until a certain mechanical dwarf came calling...”