The sun was far too bright when Amithaera finally dragged herself from her bed. She squinted at the sundial on her bedstand, its physical counterpart outside on the rooftop, revealing that it was past noon. A groan escaped her throat.

  She never slept past sunrise, let alone into the afternoon. Her entire schedule was thrown off, and she had important things to do today.

  Sliding her feet into her softest bear-cub fur slippers, the Necromancer glided above the ground towards her wardrobe with renewed magical reserves, pushing aside a black robe, an ebony cloak, and then an onyx mantle to finally find the perfect outfit for Nyssa's day. She smiled when she saw it.

  A cheerful yellow dress with tiny embroidered flowers on the hem rested nicely on her. She paired cotton stockings with it, and pretty black flats on her feet.

  Looking at the mirror, Amithaera admired her look, her smile fading when she realized she quite liked it, even upon her true form. This wouldn’t do for the bane of heroes, for the powerful unfeeling necromancer that lived within these walls!

  She let the bluster out of her lungs and retreated to her washroom. At her basin, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and winced.

  Her eyes were puffy and rimmed scarlet along the edges, her pale cheeks still held the streaks of raven mascara.

  The Necromancer shut her eyes tight and bit her tongue until every thought of letters or widows disappeared from her mind, opening to look at her pearly-white smile before picking at a piece of apple skin that had gotten stuck from one of her many emotional midnight snacks.

  No illusions here. Her teeth were all natural. She’d picked the brightest smiles from all her kills and gotten her mouth redone. Expensive, but no cost was too great to be the envy of every yellow-mouthed fool that came to kill her.

  Splashing cold water on her face and diligently scrubbing away at the salt tracks, Amithaera produced a flame from the tip of her finger to heat up her soot atop a bronze dish, dabbing a drop of water onto a tiny pile of the stuff and mixing it before applying it to her eyes.

  “Ah, hells…” She clicked her tongue and chastised herself for forgetting to become Nyssa prior to the applying of the mascara.

  The illusion magic was simple in theory. Weaving light for illusion spells was one of the first things she’d learned from her worthless Master, and the concentration required to keep the spells running was but an afterthought with her skill.

  Her fingers circled in tiny ellipses, collecting particles of light that fused to the magic emanating from her skin, pressing one tip to her nose and quickly sculpting Nyssa’s own upon her face. She did the same to her inky-black hair and turned it a pretty auburn, the same to her mouth for a plump little pair of lips, then to her beautiful elven ears in order to make those distasteful human growths. Her fingers painted the cute brown to her mother’s royal purple eyes, and…

  Amithaera returned her attention to the eyes, switching Nyssa’s brown irises into a stark crimson and testing out the look, landing on an evil scowl and a dangerously wide grin. She then crossed her eyes and growled out, “Want me to marry your boy now, Jin’Zaphalo?”

  Amithaera chomped down on the nonexistent man’s face and then laughed, about to leave, nearly slipping on the slick tile when she quickly turned to whisk her eyes back into Nyssa’s true brown eyes. She was getting ahead of herself. There was still work to be done.

  A touch of tan powder to hide the remaining redness around her eyes, a tiny pinch to her cheeks for color, a bit of soft-pink lipstick distilled from rose-petals, and finally, the unassuming Nyssa looked back at Amithaera from the mirror. A completely different person, and yet the exact same inside.

  Personal feelings aside, Amithaera enjoyed the illusion work she’d done, playing with her hair seductively before muttering, “... I’m pretty darn cute.”

  Dare she say, perfect.

  As far as humans went, anyway.

  No one in Skyfallow would suspect that their cheerful neighbor had just slain another bunch of idiotic adventurers come looking for fame and fortune.

  When she tried to wash her hands, the earlier flow of water thinned and trickled into nothingness, punctuated by an echoing travelling sound through the pipes below.

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  Something had happened to the reservoir.

  Amithaera opened her chamber door and immediately heard frantic whispering from the skeletal guards stationed in the corridor, “Shh-shh-shh! She’s comin’, ya bonehead…”

  By the time she stepped into view, both guards had snapped back to their positions, staring straight ahead with the blank attention of the truly undead. Their hurried silence told her everything she needed to know. The Minion Gossip Mill was churning away about something today.

  Wonderful.

  She walked past them without acknowledgment, but she could feel their hollow eye sockets tracking her movement as her quiet steps down the staircase led her into the throne room, where Veratreez was waiting with a small breakfast tray.

  The goblin was looking unusually anxious, which was absurd for a girl that always looked on the verge of tears. Her dark eyes darted between Amithaera's face and the floor, as if she couldn't quite decide whether to speak or remain silent.

  "Good afternoon, m'lady," Veratreez said carefully, bringing up the tray to her mistress. "I thought you might wish to break your fast before returning to Skyfallow."

  "I'm starving," Amithaera replied, then paused before taking one of those delicious little pear-filled tarts Grayface had whipped up. Guilt rose up in her chest.

  The yellow dress had fit perfectly this morning, but she could still remember the way the gown had pulled tight across her midsection after too many of Baker Hanvaro's pastries. It pained her to have to refuse eating one of that talented zombie’s treats, but a woman needed to watch her figure.

  “Actually… I'm continuing my fast today. I have important work to do."

  Veratreez nodded, but her expression remained troubled. She shifted her weight from left to right, clearly wanting to say something but not quite finding the courage. Another thought of that rumor mill had flashed in the Necromancer’s head, and she was tired of being suspicious it was about her.

  The goblin would tell her. Veratreez was loyal like that.

  "What is it? Speak, girl," Amithaera demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.

  The goblin took a small shuddering breath, "Well, m'lady, some of the minions reported... sounds last night. Crying and... howling. I thought I should investigate the matter. I went upstairs, just outside your chambers, and I heard-”

  "Allergies," Amithaera cut her off quickly, heat rising in her cheeks as she looked down at the goblin girl. "I had a terrible reaction to something. The pine, most likely. I told you how sensitive my sinuses were to them!”

  "Of course, m'lady! Allergies can be quite severe…” The little woman answered.

  Veratreez stared up at Amithaera for a moment, clearly not buying the explanation. If it’d been anyone else, the Necromancer might’ve undone their sinews and unraveled false life from their bones, but she needed the goblin to believe her. For one, she was not howling, and the crying was… not that loud.

  Instead of pressing, Veratreez simply nodded and lowered her voice to something almost gentle, "If there's ever anything you wish to talk about... anything at all... I'm here for you, m’lady.”

  Amithaera looked at the goblin like she had suddenly sprouted a second head, "Talk? What exactly would I need to talk about? We’re talking right now, Veratreez, and we should be talking about why the water in my washroom has ceased to talk! I mean, function!”

  The little goblin seemed to shrink with every loud word, and only when she was sure her mistress had paused to let her speak did she do just that, “Oh… Yes, the water. No cause for alarm, m'lady! I have dispatched an engineer to check on the reservoir. From his prediction, maybe a large stone is clogging an entry point?”

  “Good. I'll be back this evening,” the Necromancer spoke, turning without another look at the girl. "Handle the usual business. Should any minion die and need resurrecting, add them to the list. If anyone important comes to see me, tell them I am communing with my dark gods, and make it sound scary.”

  "Yes, m'lady,” Veratreez answered, watching her leave. “Crayma’s birthday bash is just before sundown…”

  Amithaera waved an understanding gesture as walked toward her throne.

  The ornate seat of carved obsidian and bone had been modified over the years to serve multiple purposes, including housing one of her most important magical anchors. The teleportation circle built into its base would take her directly to any hidden anchor point she had established. It was genius of her, really.

  Today, like most days, it would take her right into her Skyfallow cottage.

  Settling into her throne, the woman began activating the teleportation magic. The familiar sensation of reality bending around her was almost comforting, prickling at Amithaera's ribs and legs as the essence began to be transported so very far away.

  Swirling darkness shook violently around the throne, and then harmlessly erupted into a dissipating smoke that collected on the ceiling, leaving the goblin alone to munch happily on the tarts that her mistress had refused to eat.