Tales from the Necropolis.

                The still air weighed heavily on the dead as they shuffled about their day. Some found a cold comfort in their routine; others were on mysterious errands for sinister masters. None looked up to the balcony where they were watched from.

                In honesty he didn’t know if the bitterness inside him had been unleashed by the requiem, or if it had always been there, waiting like cancer to claim him in the moment of his death. Were humour still something permitted for him to feel, he may have allowed himself a small cold laugh, instead he simply stared at the small figures as they scurried beneath him, hating them for every moment of treasured ignorance they took.

                Everyone knew that Death’s word was law, that he craved to take the land of the living, and thwart Azalin, the king who had defied him for so long. Though he would never voice it, he considered the ruler of the city he was trapped in to be a fool, like so many others. In his life he had been surrounded by power beyond measure, the works of hundreds of great minds trapped forever in the pages of so many books that would never spoil, never rot, never decay, like so many of their authors had. Death had not changed this, if anything it had secured it. Nothing in Il Aluk could live, not even the humble servants of decay that might bring about the rot or corruption of the library he stood vigil over. In the decades since the requiem he had only been disturbed twice, the first was when the slaves of Death had burst in and confiscated all the works of magic that had been held in his restricted section, the second… recently.

                The small figure continued her work, though her understanding of reading and writing had been minimal, she required no sleep, or sustenance, for the calamity that had snuffed out every life in the city sustained them. At first he had considered refusing her, but the long years had taken their toll, and even now he was permitted some flicker of satisfaction that the library should once again be used by somebody other than himself, despite himself he was forced to admit she had come very far in the small amount of time she had spent in his company.

                ‘I think I found what I am looking for.’

                The sound of her voice sliced through the silence as easily as it offset his frequent self-reflection. He effortlessly stalked towards her and ran his smouldering red gaze across the assembled writings she had complied. His voice was a soft hiss, something that he could never change, even if he felt inclined to do so.

                ‘An answer to which question, young one?’

                She visibly bristled at his disparagement, but was well aware she needed him more then he needed her, and so continued regardless.

                ‘They think it’s some kind of phylactery, but I suspect they are mistaken. Remind me again the books that were taken from here.’

                Effortlessly, with the perfect recall of the dead he informed her and she listened with the same focus and patience that only the dead would know.

                ‘It’s a plan. A clever plan they have stumbled into, he will see them all dead.’

                His teeth felt the still, dead air of Il Aluk caress them as his lips drew back into a rictus grin.

                ‘This pleases you then, you will be free.’

                Her eyes flicked to a second paper she had been studying and then she shook her head.

‘No, not free. I will simply be released.’ She paused and ran her hand through her hair, a pointless gesture but one the newly dead would retain for years as the mountains of habit took time to be eroded by the rivers of eternity. ‘I need them, so I’ll help them as they asked.’ Her voice, as smooth and calm as it usually was couldn’t conceal the underlying conflict that seemed to be ever-present in the young woman.

‘You found the other… discovery that you were looking for?’ He couldn’t keep the mocking tone from his voice.

The young vampire set her hand down upon a small note book that always stayed by her side, countless scribble sand sketches seemed to fill its pages, large childlike letters slowly giving way to a more neat and controlled script. Her fingers seemed to caress an image of what looked to be an ordinary pair of bracers.

‘Perhaps, but my work is incomplete. Bring me a lantern and your books on demonology.’

The sun sets on the city of the dead, but they continue to shuffle about their routine, none of them look up, and so the small light in the library of Il Aluk University continues to burn un-noticed.