The Lich

You enter the dungeon,

Hands shaking,

Heart hammering.

Your fingers grip your sword,

Your eyes darting around the dark room,

A test of courage.

First,

You hear it.

A creaking of bones,

The raking of breath.

It emerges from the darkness.

An ancient creature,

Older than time itself.

You raise your sword.

Only,

The light reaches its face,

And your stomach drops.

Standing before you,

Cloaked in death,

Is the face of the one you cherish most.

Their eyes are milky white,

Blank and empty of life.

Their skin is sickly and thin,

No blood runs beneath.

Their limbs are skeletal,

Barely holding their frame high.

This cosmic entity has perverted them,

Turned them into a creature of death,

Something you don’t want to recognise.

But they are still someone you love.

From the way their hair coils,

To the gait of their feeble walk,

They are still a being you adore.

You ask yourself,

Will you fight them?

Will you destroy them?

Will you degrade them?

Or will you let them drag you to hell.

You don’t have long to decide,

Time is against you,

And you must choose a path.

Which will you choose,

Honour or justice?

Love or agony?