(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

whipped around to face… nothing. I blinked. Perhaps it was my
imagination… it was a misty blur after all, perhaps something in the corner
of my vision.
But still… throughout this building there had been nothing but the dying
hues of crimson and earthen brown, laced with black and touched with the
occasional glint of metal scalpels. Blue was worth investigating, if only for a
few minutes.
“Chief, where are you going? The entrance is this way!”
“One minute, Morte, I think I saw something here,” walking into the
memorial hall.
“Gods damn it, can’t you just stick with the tour group for-” his voice ground
to a halt.
The chamber was dim and drab as all the others, yet the metal and stone
were softer somehow, more gentle. The sharp planes and worn, rough walls
in the rest of the Mortuary were the carvings of a careless hand and the
design of a cruel mind. The other chambers were concerned with function
rather than form, and were rough and sharp with age.
But here, the chamber was clean and well-kept. The stones were polished
smooth to a tender softness, and the last trailing wisps of incense from the
braziers gave off a sweet aroma, exotic as winter blossoms. No doubt the
braziers would soon be cleaned and refilled. Lamps surrounded the marble
tomb, elegant, with no expense spared. Yet it still possessed a certain
humility that spoke of a loving hand, one that still wouldn’t let go.
The plaque simply read, “Deionarra,” a name that was hauntingly familiar.
The air suddenly grew cold.
“You...” the icy hiss seemed to resonate throughout the entire chamber. The
flames dimmed, the incense snuffed out and the last dying wisps of sweet
smoke snaked through the air. I looked around, trembling, the chill finally
touching my bare skin.
A blue and white mist unfolded on the steps to the tomb, and a cold fog
billowed outwards as a woman’s visage coalesced before my eyes. She was
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