[ WP ] You 're a necromancer with dreams of wealth and power . You create a process to use scar tissue from an assault victim to heal the wound , at the cost of inflicting an identical wound on their attacker . That evening you read an article about acid attacks on women in India .

I'm a necromancer. I specialize in dead people. 
 
 Well, that's not entirely true. It would be more accurate to say, `` I specialize in the flesh of beings who may or may not be entirely alive,'' but I'm no lawyer. People also do n't see the distinction, either - they just see dead people. Necromancers have never been popular on Earth, except from those edgy high-schoolers who adore the grim, dark world I apparently occupy. 
 
 I did n't really start out this way. I was just a young mage, wide-eyed and eager to take in the world. I took up healing magic as my first vocation - keep myself and my friends healthy, you know. I also figured that I could make a chunk of change with some easy cure-alls or other medicine. 
 
 Then reality hit. Medical corporations already had patents on pills and potions for virtually anything. I toiled for years to find an out, anything that might make me rich overnight. Greed and a lust for power were just the spark I needed. I looked into necromancy next, trying out possible ways to use and abuse the undead for fun and profit. 
 
 Soon after, I found it. A series of spells to dissolve and reshape scars, by softening the fibrous, rigid tissue to make it behave more like normal skin. The best part is that, because it does n't use medication or surgery, there are no side effects. A scar from your childhood? GONE! Knuckles all scuffed up? Smooth as a baby's with my treatment. It's perfect. 
 
 However. 
 
 As with most miracles, infomercial products, and `` too good to be true'' deals, there's always a catch. You see, the universe does n't like people messing around with undoing certain processes. Nature, entropy, time - it all bends and warps when magic is involved. So when you remove scar tissue, the universe bites back. That scar from your childhood? What was it caused by? If it was due to a rock or a fall from somewhere, the `` bite'' simply leave identical damage to the thing that caused the injury in the first place. Okay, not so terrible. 
 
 But wait, it gets even better. 
 
 Turns out human emotions are very, very strong, magic-wise. Sufficient malice or other emotions infuse living and inanimate objects so much, that the universe sees only the human as the cause, not the object in question. So, as a side effect of the ritual, a scar from a knife wound is inflicted right back to the guy who did it. It's horrifically, beautifully effective. 
 
 Now, to the actual story. 
 
 One night, as I was relaxing after a round of mana channeling, I saw a news story. 
 
 `` WOMAN MUTILATED BY ACID - ATTACKER GOES FREE'' 
 
 Turns out a potential husband-to-be in India did n't take rejection so well, so he took it upon himself to ruin the woman he was infatuated with. Acid is pretty nasty stuff - even weak acids hve been known to dissolve proteins in the food we eat. A stronger acid can melt metal in a few minutes. Just image what they do to human flesh. Apparently, bits of this woman's skull were exposed from the attack. Over 40 % of her body was hit, concentrated in her eyes, face, mouth, and torso. Shock forced her to inhale some of it, so her tongue and esophagus got a lot of it too. It's been a few weeks since the attack, and doctors say she's just barely hanging on. 
 
 She can barely see, speak, or eat now, according to the reporter. Her attacker? Scot-free. 
 
 My fists clenched and unclenched. While I may dabble in the deeds of the dead, seeing innocent people hurt over someone else's hurt feelings is something I can not ignore. That very night, I packed up my bags and my magic and headed to India. 
 
 The staff at the hospital were easy to convince - a subtle series of illusions made them all think I was one of the many doctors on staff that day. I found her room, isolated from the remainder of the patients. 
 
 `` Pari Sodhi'' was printed on her nameplate. 
 
 `` Ethereal beauty,'' I chuckled. Somewhat ironic. 
 
 I knocked on the door. A small buzz from the other side let me know it was okay to enter. 
 
 Machines whirred, monitors beeped. Pari turned to where I approximately was, her eyes staring listlessly at my bag. 
 
 `` Good afternoon, Ms. Sodhi. I'm a specialist in plastic surgery.'' 
 
 Pari mechanically turned to face me in the doorway. 
 
 Her head looked worse than I thought. Skin cracked and blotched, bandages feebly trying to keep blood from getting on the sheets. 
 
 `` I'd like to see if I can help with your current... condition. I am developing a revolutionary new method that should remove most scar tissue from your face. Not to bore you, but it takes...'' 
 
 Pari, surprisingly, listened to the rest of my explanation without a sound. 
 
 `` Now, what do you think?'' 
 
 `` You... are... not a doctor.'' 
 
 `` Hm? What do you mean?'' 
 
 `` I ca n't see you, but I can... smell you. You do n't smell... like that cleaning solution... the hospital uses.'' 
 
 She croaked out these words with what I could only assume to be a laugh. 
 
 `` Who... are you?'' 
 
 My subtle magics only worked on people who could actually see my illusions. Caught red-handed, I decided to fess up. 
 
 `` Well, you catch on quickly. You got me. I'm actually... a necromancer.'' 
 
 More choked, restrained laughter. 
 
 `` I think... you are... in the wrong place.'' 
 
 Clever. 
 
 `` Well, that scar treatment I mentioned? It's the real deal.'' 
 
 `` I could... tell. The other surgeon... did n't seem so sure.'' 
 
 I could see bits of exasperation, exhaustion, and sorrow in her face. Traditional medicine ca n't make a new, good-looking face from other people's skin. 
 
 `` Do I really sound that honest?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 `` So... what magic... will you use... on a living corpse like me?'' 
 
 I'm normally not supposed to tell people my secrets, under threat of death. But there was something about this woman, something that made me take the riskiest of risks. 
 
 `` The magic I cast will remove your scars and repair your face, but it comes at a cost.'' 
 
 Hesitation. A pause form Pari as she mulled over it. 
 
 `` What is it?'' 
 
 `` You ca n't'undo' a massive change in a system without it changing something in return.'' 
 
 `` So... my scars...'' 
 
 `` More specifically, the injury that caused them.'' 
 
 `` My scars will go to... someone else?'' 
 
 `` You catch on quickly.'' 
 
 `` I see.'' 
 
 Another long pause. It took her while to figure it out, but she understood what would happen. 
 
 `` Do it.'' 
 
 `` Are you sure? He will be just like you when the ritual is complete. Are you sure this is n't against --'' 
 
 `` We are not all like Gandhi, sir.'' 
 
 My face reddened in embarrassment. I probably should n't have mentioned religion in such a delicate setting. 
 
 I stood up and closed the door. Did n't want others interrupting the ritual to come. 
 
 `` Very well. I'll get started.'' 
 
 ===================== 
 
 Pari's miraculous recovery from her acid attack was, to her parents, living proof that she was blessed by a higher power. 
 
 I checked in every few days with Pari. Her skin and her face healed up nicely after my treatment - back to their original state, with virtually no flaws. While my spell could n't grow back her hair right away, she accepted it. 
 
 `` A bald head is but a small price to pay for what you did. Thank you.'' 
 
 Now, I'm sure you're curious. What happened to her attacker? 
 
 Of course, it worked just as I calculated. The universe decided to change a few atoms around in his perfumed bath. 
 
 Huge burns on his body, loss of skin, eyes, nose, and tongue. 
 
 Practically a corpse, if you ask me. A shame the `` acid'' was n't swallowed, as it would have surely eroded his insides. The best part? He finished the job himself. The moment he saw himself in the mirror, he offed himself with the very mirror he was given - a single glass shard to the throat. News of his horrific accident and subsequent death was met with relief and ridicule of the former attacker. 
 
 I could n't have planned this demonstration better. 
 
 Life moved on. I decided to stay in India for a while, occasionally meeting with Pari, who was, or course, naturally curious about my magecraft. I could n't blame her - it's not every day you meet a magician. A year later, and we were happily married. Even now, she keeps her hair short, having grown accustomed to not having much hair after the attack on her. 
 
 But what happened to wealth and fame, you ask? 
 
 This was actually Pari's suggestion - open up a special hospital for victims of assault, war, and other disfiguring accidents. We run a very well-funded non-profit organization after it was shown that our `` surgeries'' fixed what were otherwise impossible to fix injuries. 
 
 It all worked out well for me in the end. I got my money and fame not with corpses, but with real people. 
 
 Of course, I'd never waste a perfectly good corpse, if, say the attacker died as a result of the ritual... so I got some *very* nice'servants' to tidy up the mansion. Pari thinks they look cute.
