Do you like what you see?

“When you look in the mirror, do you like what you see?” 

His hands jolt, and the web of magic dissipates, its golden light swallowed in a millisecond. Embers of his crime float in the air, their glow flickering before popping into nonexistence. Yet, despite the room’s only light source being extinguished, silver light flows from behind him. 

The muscles of his back tighten, but that does not deter the creature’s faint warmth, which, like its light, soaks the room. Stories of charred corpses and exploded eyeballs circulated about those who dared to view such a creature in its true form. 

“Do not stop on my account, Mr. Scelestus. I did not mean to interrupt. Continue.” A pause, long enough for him to question his resolve, before he turns back to his work. 

With firm hands, he carves the magic out from the ground and air, forcing the golden strands to reconnect in the right configuration. Muscles strain as he pushes the sigil up towards the ceiling. Hands quiver as he twists it into place above the gurney. 

Finally, he pulls chords of light, thin as spider silk, from his veins to anchor the spell to the earth. 

“A magnificent feat. All this for a dead woman?” the creature murmurs. Its ethereal heat singes his back as It walks to his side. If It stood any closer, his suit and skin would unravel into ash. 

Sweat slides down his neck. 

“My wife.” He refuses to face what she’s become, more bloated than beautiful, turning instead towards the ornate dagger on his workbench. 

“If she wakes, do you think she would like what she saw?” 

He presses the blade against his palm, just enough for blood to pool in his cupped hand. 

“I’ve taken precautions. She’ll be as beautiful as the day we met,” he says, lifting his bleeding hand to the floating symbol’s heart. 

“And not the day she died? Mr. Scelestus, we both know that is not what I asked.” 

The blood latches on, forming a liquid bridge, twisting and overtaking until the room is smothered in a bloody red glow. Its magic hums at a different key, harmonizing across octaves as it replays every time he’s ever said her name.

“Elizabeth,” the sigil sighs. He’d blush, if not for the sudden lack of blood. 

His fingers are white as he snaps the hand away. Stars burst across his eyelids and his head spun. Is the creature smiling? Amused at the intimacy the magic revealed? 

“Why all these questions if you’re just going to arrest me?” he asks, staggering to his workbench. 

“Who said I was here to arrest you, Mr. Scelestus? No human has ever gotten as far as you have. Everyone at the Bureau is at the edge of their seats. Why should I allow such talent to languish behind bars?” 

“Then why are you here?” he says, grabbing a bloodied dishcloth to tend to his injured hand. “Why haven’t they taken action against me?” 

“You are familiar with the punishment for necromancy, yes?” The creature came to his other side, igniting his flesh. He averted his eyes as It traced along the wound, cauterizing it. “Death, Mr. Scelestus. Death.” 

“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?” 

“To offer a bit of advice.” As Its white light moves closer, the border of his shadow becomes more defined. A man in an angel’s presence. “This sort of project is known to take a person apart, piece by piece. Such is the way with mortal flesh. I would suggest reconsidering how willing you are to be dismantled.” 

“But—” but it was no use. The creature was gone. 

*** 

The next time he saw the being was a year later, after he’d finally heeded Its suggestion. With his injured legs, he couldn’t stand to greet It. 

“Let me ask again, Mr. Scelestus. When you look in the mirror, do you like what you see?” “I don’t bother going upstairs anymore, so I wouldn’t know.” 

It moved towards the gurney, where his Elizabeth lay on ice. Silver light glided across the nearest stone wall as It passed a hand over her lifeless body. 

“I see you have not given up,” It said, bringing a glowing hand to her bald, purpled head.

On his workbench was a portrait of her, as she was. As she would be. Luscious blond hair, luminous eyes, a desire to explore. Seraphic. She would hate being kept down here. Soon, he would set her free. 

“It’ll be any day now.” 

“Last year, when I visited you, even through your grief, I saw a passionate, intelligent man. Do you want to know what I see now?” 

“Do tell.” 

“I see a fool. I am sure she would agree.” 

“She will see that what I’ve done is for her benefit. In time, she will appreciate it.” “Do not be so sure, Mr. Scelestus.” 

“Let me show you.” 

With a wave of his thin, knobby hand, the sigil appeared above his wife, already tethered to the ground. Already red and speaking her name. He grabbed the knife off of his workbench and, with his legs already so weak from past attempts, took it to his forearm. 

Only flesh can revive flesh. 

“Help an old man?” He said, cradling the fruit of his labor in his hand. 

Silently, they walked towards the gurney together, where he severed one of her fingers and placed it in the palm of his hand. Below the sigil’s center, the two rose. 

The web of magic rippled, expanding and contracting. What was once red was overtaken by gold, then shifted into blue and green. Then, the anchors began to dissipate, fading into sparkles, before the decay spread across the sigil’s chords and reached its heart. For a moment, what remained of his magic held at taut attention, fragments suspended in air, quivering in anticipation. 

He ducked as the sigil burst apart, rattling the furniture. 

A cough. 

“Elizabeth?” He reached for her from the floor. He stood up despite the agony.

She was not as she was or as he hoped her to be. Her muscles were visible under her translucent skin, violet veins mapping out the life that now pumped through her. Her lips, once plush and pink, lay like cracked porcelain. 

“No…” he staggered away. 

Her head snapped to face him. Her mouth split to speak. 

“Antony…” voices, hers intertwined with another, spoke. 

“No…” 

“Antony, my beloved…” her voice, once melodic, slipped below a tenor’s. Her eyelids parted to reveal the milky, sunken irises of her unseeing eyes. 

“Am I as beautiful as you imagined?” the tenor said with her rended mouth, Elizabeth’s voice threading between its words. “Do you like what you see? My darling, do you like what you see?” 

The voice was manic, cracking throughout the room, as her hand reached for him. Around her fingers, her skin sagged away from the bone. 

His insides roiled within him. Bile rose, invading his senses. Caving in, he retched. “Do you—” with a burst of light, she was silent once more. 

“That is what happens when humans play with mortality, Mr. Scelestus,” It said as the scent of burnt flesh rose from her corpse. 

“But I was—Then why’d you—” Legs too weak to hold him, he slumped to the ground. For the first time in a decade, he cried. 

“I advised you to give up, Mr. Scelestus. Now, I fear that is something you will never be able to do. To think we had such high hopes for you.” 

“What—” 

“Mr. Scelestus, necromancy is punishable by death. I’m sure you knew that when you began this venture and it is too late for negotiations now. Any last words?” 

“You should have given me more time—I could’ve—I could’ve—” 

“We both know that never would have worked.” 

Another burst of light. Another voice silenced.

“I hopeyou likedwhatyousaw, Mr. Scelestus.”