Letters to My (hopefully) Dead Wife

((Reposting))

My dearest Sara,

Let me just get this out of the way to start with. Yes, being not-quite-dead is unpleasant. In fact, it really and truly sucks. But I am determined to not let this get to me, as it seems to have done to far too many of those around me. Sitting at the inn in Brill makes me want to open a vein that would yield little as it is...they whine incessantly about what they've lost and the Unimaginable Darkness of Unbeing.

What they don't see is that we've been given another chance! Yes, there's that whole waking up in a crypt thing, and yes, the first week of running around dazed and confused, eating things you'd rather not think about and seeing your reflection in the mirror the first time...yes, those are unsettling. Once you get past that and your mind, or whatever it is, starts to exert control over the body again, it's great! I'm not dead. We're not dead...I mean we as in those around me, obviously you are...we're still able to leave our mark, do great things, or not-so-great, as the case may be.

And I miss you. That, my darling, that will be the thing that drives me mad, if anything does. I suppose it's a testament to all the bad elven poetry that I remember your face, and your name, even though I've forgotten mine. Love eternal and all that sort of thing. But I try not to dwell on this, as, like I've said, it's your loss that threatens sanity most.

I will write these letters to you since it's better than "dear journal" and partly to remember your name, just in case... Oh, but yes, my name...I have taken the name Habeas Corpus, I don't know why this is funny to me but it is...I picture a man in a wig when I think about why it makes me giggle. Someday, perhaps, I will figure it out. My surname is now Cordwainer, because I used to make shoes. I can remember your name, and my job, but not my name. And they always said it wasn't the job that makes the man...bah, what do they know? I don't know if my new name is more thrilling than my real name, but I can hope.

The last I remember us being together, I was sick, dreadfully so. I remember your nursing me. I remember the priests saying they couldn't do anything, muttering about magic and curses. I remember you throwing them out and renouncing the Light. You thought I was asleep...but I heard it. I remember being terrified for your soul at the time, but now, I'm not so sure. I was ‘dead' a long time, and there were none of the tell-tale signs of my ‘going to the Light' or any of that hogwash. Perhaps it was the Plague...and if it was because of that and the Light waits for us, I hope it forgave you for your momentary apostasy. Grief does that.

The Plague...yes, yes, I suppose I should explain. It was in the pamphlet they gave me when I awoke in the crypt. Basic affair, that pamphlet, with a bulleted list. Something like this:

• You died.
• You're not dead any more, but you kind of are.
• Remain calm.
• You are not a monster.
• There are other not-dead people that are mindless and hate you.
• There are a lot of living people that are mindless and/or hate you.
• You have self-awareness due to Sylvanas.
• You can join her, or you can be alone in a world that hates you.
• Speak to the nearest Forsaken recruiter.

The pamphlet went on at length, but I could tell no one read it all often, like I did, because the writer kept slipping in little things that indicated he knew the rest of what he wrote was rather pointless and absurd, but it was still better than nothing.

So, I thought, I'm dead because some crazy power mad guy made a plague that killed a lot of people, and not dead because he wanted an army of zombies. Great. I went looking for the recruiter and got attacked by some bat or something, I can't really remember. I then don't remember much...I might have been ‘gone' an hour or a week, but when I regained my senses, I was torn and tattered and covered in blood, only a little of which was mine. And some chap named Melva was talking to me, apparently breaking through the raving madness that so many of use go through at the start. He pointed me toward

Oh dear, I hear a Scarlet patrol coming...I'll finish this tale later.

My warmest remembrances,

Habeas