I gazed at my hand. Faded now to grey, the stereotypical image of undeath. I imagine if I saw myself in a mirror, I would not recognize what I saw.
If I could even remember myself before. DAMN!
In my temporary burst of anger, I had withered the tree behind me in black flames. I had to keep that in control. Those dark powers had been manifesting themselves more and more as of late.
I have to find what is missing from my mind quickly. I fear that as these powers become more entrenched within me, I will lose more and more control over myself and become the soulless, mindless beast that so many of my fellow fallen have become.
I have been rejected by the living so many times, I must be mad to keep trying. They fear all undead the same. A prejudice, on a curse that none want to suffer themselves!!!
Control, damn, control, must keep control. I look back, and see those same withering unholy flames consuming several trees.
My only hope now, it seems, is the beacon to the north. It will teach me what I have lost.
If it doesn't, I fear the worst. And not for me. For others.