[ WP ] At the age of 16 , everyone is told their RPG class , a cleric is hopelessly in love with a necromancer

We fell in love over a dead rabbit. 
 
 In a way, we're the same kind of person, and mage: I maintain life, and she restores it. The rest of this'blah black necro-magic, yadda yadda life-magic' crap is just that: crap. It's divisive. Artificial. 
 
 Love is love. 
 
 I could n't save Mr. Snugglewix that day. The cart squished him pretty good, poor thing. But, I'm an optimist, and knew Mr. Snugglewix came from the Wix rabbit lines, and there were many more Wix to love! 
 
 `` I can fix that,'' said that sad day the young girl with the freckled face hidden under a dark hood. 
 
 `` There ai n't no fixing *that*,'' one of the townspeople said. `` It be quite dead, child.'' 
 
 The young girl flared her dark blue cloak in response, releasing pale arms, revealing locks of raven hair that streamed so beautifully down her shoulders. `` I can,'' she said. `` Daddy always said Death taketh, but Death be taketh away from, as well -- for a price.'' 
 
 The townsperson looked at the little girl I would later know and love as Christine as if she was simple, or evil. 
 
 `` What price?'' I asked. 
 
 Christine kneeled beside Mr. Snugglewix's corpse, speaking softly, `` A small price,'' she said, `` for a small soul.'' She looked at up at me, then, showing me her beautiful dark blue eyes. `` An ounce of blood, perhaps aided by a fresh fruit or vegetable, in exchange.'' 
 
 I shook a little, then. `` I do n't want to bleed,'' I told her. `` What else, beside blood?'' 
 
 Christine shrugged. `` A live rat, then,'' she said. `` And maybe a piece of produce. That sounds fair to trade with Death.'' 
 
 `` Girl, boy,'' the townsperson said. `` This ai n't no game ur playin'. Necromancery be a sheit art no child should be a dabblin' in.'' 
 
 I ignored the speaker. `` I do n't wan na catch a rat, neither,'' I told Christine. `` But, if it's life for a life, then I can maybe provide. I'm of the White.'' 
 
 `` Oh,'' Christine said. `` My Ma is kinda sick, but we're so poor. If you promise to help, White one, I'll make sure it's right with Death. But, ya got ta swear. A swear is a good a contract as any, Daddy says.'' 
 
 `` Childs!'' The townsperson said. `` This be madness! Stop this!'' 
 
 I bowed then. `` I swear, I swear,'' I replied, again ignoring the townsperson. `` Can you please bring back Mr. Snugglewix now? I loved him, too, though there's lots more Wixes.'' 
 
 `` Oh?'' Christine remarked. `` Daddy might like to know that. And Ma.'' 
 
 We both were ignoring the townsperson by then. 
 
 `` Please, hurry,'' I pleaded. `` I do n't want Mr. Snugglewix to begin to stink.'' 
 
 `` Okay.'' 
 
 Christine laid both hands over Mr. Snugglewix's body, one over the head, one over the heart, and muttered the incantation then: `` *Life for life, hear this soul's swear, Death. Relinquish, as it is writ to be fair. Return, Mr. Snugglewix. *'' 
 
 I stepped back from the dark-colored aura that flared around Christine and Mr. Snugglewix, same as the townsperson did. A few moments afterwards, Christine moved her hands off Mr. Snugglewix. And, in the miracle of necromancy, my rabbit's furry ears twitched, the red eyes glimmered with life once more, and Mr. Snugglewix bounded back to is paws, shaking out its fur -- none the worse for wear. 
 
 ``'T is done, and done well,'' Christine said, moving out of the way then, letting me pick up my rabbit and give it a good snuggling. 
 ____ 
 
 My undead rabbit that still lives with me in my private quarters, currently sitting in Christine's lap, some eight years later -- the former never aging, and the second having aged even more beautifully. 
 
 `` Aw,'' Christine says, stroking Mr. Snugglewix's ears. ``'T was a fair exchange, was n't it, Ristan?'' 
 
 `` The most fair,'' I say as I put my informal seal on the document and give it to the word-raven to whisk away to my publisher. `` I hope it sells.'' 
 
 Christine smiles, her freckled face uncovered by her hood she'd left on the door hook. `` You should take more concern with your works of'fiction', Ristan,'' she tells me. `` Some would think you're not just making these things up.'' 
 
 I smile, as well. `` What sells sells,'' I reply. `` I need whatever I can get to pay off tuition.'' 
 
 `` You'll do fine in life, love,'' Christine says. `` As I do in death.'' 
 
 I push back away from my desk and wipe off my tunic and trousers. `` So, speaking of the business of life...'' I grin at Christine. 
 
 Christine places Mr. Snugglewix on the floor beside the bed, then tilts her head at me so whimsically. `` The night is still young, dear Ristan,'' she says coyly. `` And I know of a few jobs we could do, together.'' 
 
 `` Aww...'' 
 
 Christine giggles just a little bit -- a sound known only to our private moments and quarters. `` Ristan, lover,'' she says, `` then we can do some things ourselves... together.'' 

