oh thou sweet babe, once born. yet to feel the merciful release of death and cruel demand of rebirth. unmarked and uncursed, thy mortal coil in loose sprials.
little do they know how their fate looms, the endless cyclone turning over and over again, its cold reflection below. their descent begins and forever they will look back at themselves now, on the verge, and curse their own name.
thou never forget thy first. true here as anywhere. the first death is revelation, made manifest by its remembering. for after the first death the lich is born anew, that tender kiss still felt pressed to their lips. they will never forget, they will chase that feeling knowingly or otherwise forever into eternity.
likely they return, and likely whole. blood still pumps through their bodies, their skin still flush with color. they appear a perfect facsimile of themselves As Before. only another would recognise the slight narrowing of the pupils, and even then you might convince them of misjudgement. it was only ever so slight after all.
is that a greying of the the skin? is the breath lighter? No! cries the defiant lich, for the ritual forms a perfect circle. the theory is known! they dismiss their mothers, they dismiss their lovers - the lich of sunken eyes, the lich who's odor is that of mist and absence - these are but evidence of a corrupt subject, an unsteady hand. the method is sound!
as the lich descends, we see their necromantic power begin to bud and sprout forth. their dead-sense grows. they begin to develop the touch on the hallowed life line. the lich is a blind creature still but the cold prickling has begun at the nape of the neck.
