FicWad

Sitting next to him on a high chair, she soaked several cotton balls with the disinfectant solution, before wiping the corpse's neck with it. Very little dirt came off, though a lot of blood did. She could have sworn that there was a look of pain in the thing's eyes. But zombies weren't supposed to feel pain... Right?

Then, the needle and thread, flashing in and out, pulling tanned flesh together. Doubtlessly, he was in pain. Mentally, she made a note for next time, to bring ice, or a numbing spray, or something. Within a few minutes, the corpse's neck was sewn up entirely. At the end, she had to stop to wipe up more blood. There was no way that this was still the blood from her wrist. Why was a regenerated corpse bleeding?

The question troubled her even as she dabbed ointment on the cut and covered it with gauze and bandages. She left the room to go return the leftovers to the medicine cabinet. When she returned, she smirked, seeing that he'd fallen asleep, snoring loudly. She snapped off the lights, closing the door quietly behind her. Let him sleep, even though he'd been taking a dirt nap for the past thousand years.

It was nearly 3 AM, but the Necromancer couldn't go to sleep as yet. She had more to study up on, questions burning in the forefront of her mind. She had to find out. As in, why was this guy looking so human? Why was he bleeding? Could he die again?

Half an hour later found her still poring over musty old tomes, pages so frail that they'd crumble if she gripped them too hard. Going through near everything she could find about zombies and regenerated corpses and the afterlife, especially the book she'd gotten that spell from, she came up with a very interesting theory.

It turned out that the spell she used was easily one of the most powerful that there were out there. It was usually meant to be used to raise several hundred people at once. Used like that, it could take several hours to work, and would only regenerate a corpse to the point that it would be able to shamble about. As writing, the spell called for the blood of an animal, slaughtered by the one wishing to raise the dead, and dripped onto the graves of the dead. Using one's own blood would give greater loyalty, but also a greater chance of the corpse turning against it's master. Using the spell on a single corpse would be able to regenerate skin onto a skeleton, bringing it literally back to life.

In this state, no matter what happened to the corpse, it would not die unless given permission to do so by the one who gave it life, and would be fiercely loyal to the one who's blood it drank.

"Joy. I get a loyal zombie that can't die, and is pretty much completely alive." She said sarcastically. Reading on, she saw that if a corpse reache this point and began to regain elements of it's personality, the best thing to do was to find it's soul and place the soul back into the body, unless you wanted said corpse resenting and killing you.

"Why did society push me to this?" She lamented, thumping her head against the book and sending up a huge cloud of dust. Too tired to move from there, she fell asleep, just as the first rays of sunlight began to peek above the horizon.