Like every story that speaks of worship and necromancy, of maiden sacrificed and dangerous knowledge, this one starts at night. The old temple had fallen into decrepitude for longer than memory ran. The statues were disfigured by time and moss grew on the stones. From time to time, the distant squeaking of rats could be heard as something startled them or woke up their appetite. In this place, many years ago, a necromancer had made his first encounter with the epitome of his dark magic made with bones more than flesh : a lich. Their conversation had lasted for days and nights as it mattered not to the undead lord and the wizard's thirst for knowledge was far too deep to worry of his earthly shell's needs. When all had been done, the latter promised to come back in twenty years to learn more. From the dead man's mouth came an order; to not come empty handed. It had not been said in those exact words but that was what they meant to the novice necromancer and he disappeared as he had come... his footsteps not to be heard of for two decades, as he had promised.
The night was now. A couple walked in, cloaked in black. The temple was seemingly unchanged since the last time the man had walked what remained of its alleys and corridors. The blue white light of the moon pierced through the darkness as did the few braziers flanking what had been the main aisle. No warmth filtered the air. It was as if something sucked in all heat and the unsure necromancer's wife, who was just as her husband practice the dark arts, held the cloth of her cloak more closely around her. The Lich was waiting. They both knelt with the utmost respect, the man one step in front of the woman.
"My Lord" he started. "I return as it was my oath. I have brought my wife with me, as she too, yearn to know more. We have much to understand still but we are ready to take on this path and learn of the way that leads to shedding our mortal shell. This is the knowledge we seek... and we are well aware that the cost is high. Therefore, we have a sacrifice to offer you."
A shuffling somewhere further down and the presence of undeads. Two of them. One on each side of what appeared to be an white apparition. A phantom with a heartbeat and warm blood coursing through its veins, a creature very much alive but rendered ethereal by the pure gown flowing around its legs and the veil that hid the face. A crown made of withered and fresh flowers, with branches bared of all leaf and a small link of gold running along it rested on the head. The silhouette walked in silence, in its otherworldly grace, until it passed the woman and came to the side of the man. The lowered face of the gift slowly moved up. The gold shone in the pale light. A small recoil of its shape was cut short by the grabbing hand of the necromancer which forced the breathing ghost to fall on its knees.
"A bride or a servant, virgin blood or spell focus... She is yours to do as you please for she was born for this day to come. She was raised to know spellcraft and how to run a household to better serve whatever purpose you wish to give her. My Lord... Our daughter, Melinoë."
The veil was lifted, revealing the fresh face and dark locks of a young woman. Her eyes were lowered but soon moved up to look again upon the master she had been groomed to serve. Many feelings fought for a place into her gaze but her mouth remained shut and mute. Her attention moved to her father who dismissed her silent questions with a glare. Steeling her will and keeping her wits about her, she licked her lips that were drying and inhaled.
"Mercy, Lord Lich..."
Her voice was smooth and caressing even as it trembled. The necromancer made a frustrated "tch" between clenched teeth. He could've twist her arms or whispered some spell to keep her quiet but it would be inconsiderate and most likely to ruin his chances. So he bit his tongue.