Sherry’s father had kept an ossuary of her grandfather’s bones with them during her childhood, not a tradition there, more sentimentalism from his part. It was a beautiful box of dark laquered wood with their family crest, held together by polished iron and opened with a tiny black key. He had often joked he hoped she would keep him in it when his turn came, but Sherry never found it funny.

They searched for the box, hoping the Queen had it sent along with everything else, but to no avail. They did, however, find a spare body buried in the backyard of the house, although they couldn’t begin to guess who. Sherry imagined it was one of her relatives, but she did not want to bring anybody else back. Still, the bones served their purpose as a replacement for her grandfather to move around. They only needed the skull to serve as an anchor for the soul, but beyond that, anything was tradeable.

“I feel like a new man,” said the skeleton, now dressed in her father’s old black robes while testing his bony limbs. 

“You would sell that more if you would let me regrow the rest of you,” Sherry pleaded, but he refused.

“No, this will do,” he insisted, heading towards the kitchen. “You don’t need ligaments to make coffee when you have magic powering your hands.” 

“You are most kind, abuelo,” Sherry smiled.

“It sounds nice to be called that,” and Sherry thought that even his skull looked happy somehow. “As for everyone else, you can call me Farr’Yand’Rull. It’s been a long time since anyone did…not quite sure how long ago it was I died. I seem to recall the humans back then calling themselves Romans or some such.”

He set out to grind the fresh beans to prepare the special brew the same way her father used to do. Most elves preferred tea, but not their family. It was another thing that set them apart, but the land they lived in was famous for its coffee, and they even grew it back in their hacienda. The smell hit the air and brought Sherry back hundreds of years, to the last cup she shared with them.

Like a true host, Farr served and carried a cup for everyone back in the living room. They all drank gratefully, letting the warmth wash over them. Even Mort.

“I’m afraid it’s been a mess,” Val said, after draining his cup. Now that the emotional part of their moment was over, he simply sounded exhausted. “The whole house is abuzz with excitement and terror since we heard the news of the Queen coming.”

“I suppose it has been a spell since she last visited,” Mort said.

“Not since you died,’ Val added, with still a bit of pain. “Many believe she fled with the rise of insecurity in the city, so her coming back in response to its biggest outbreak could be called a rational move to set minds at ease.”

“Or an opportunity to take her out,” Sherry added grimly.

“A bold move, considering her security,” Val said, though not entirely dismissive of the idea. “Not to mention, she is the most powerful magic wielder in the world.”

“I doubt they would act without a plan,” Sherry said, “and they have not so far.”

“But even with an army at their side, and that’s a generous description of their group,” Mort added, “they still cannot hope to take on the entire Royal Guard and the Queen both.”

“But they will do something,” Farr chimed in, now bringing a plate of another local delicacy, Sherry had almost forgotten.

“Are those?” Sherry asked, even inching forward at the enticing smell.

“Tequeños, yes,” the skeleton nodded. “I suppose you lot would call them cheese sticks, but I will not hold your lack of culture against you since my granddaughter clearly needs the friends.” 

“My mother used to make these,” Kor said, eagerly taking a bite of one.

“The boy has hope at least.” 

For a moment, Sherry felt a peace she hadn't felt in a long time. Sitting around her loved ones, even if half of them were dead, was something she hadn't done since her father was alive. There was a pang in her chest, and she thought she recognized the feeling as the closest she’d been to content in many years.

“Why does everyone hate you so much for bringing back the dead?” Kor asked suddenly.

Everyone froze, their enjoyment paused by the question. Mort looked like he wanted to answer, but Sherry beat him to it. “Because they’re afraid.”

“But they’re not really alive,” Kor pointed out, skeptical. 

“No, but they are here, as you've seen today,” Sherry said, looking at Mort. 

“The practice started millennia ago, before humans spread across the land,” Farr said, bringing another tray with coffee to the table. “We were more savage ourselves back then, often at war with one another. Death was far too common, and no one really had a chance to process any of it.”

Even with no expression, Sherry could feel the melancholy in the old skeleton. “The first Rull figured out the connection between magic and souls, and that one could link the other. He started bringing back those fallen in battle to give a chance to their loved ones to say goodbye. Of course, that didn’t last long. Most elves were afraid of the concept, and they killed him for the so-called heresy.”

He turned to look at Sherry, “That was my grandfather.” 

“I can understand why people were afraid at first,” Kor said, “I was when I saw Mort…but then he spoke to me; he forgave me. That was a gift. How could people not give that a chance?”

“We have long lives and no wisdom for it,” Val chimed in, his tone angry. “Not as different from humans as we tell ourselves, or else we would have learned from our mistakes.” 

He looked at Mort next to him, a deep tenderness in his eyes. “All my life, I heard naught but talk about how evil this family was. No one bothered to explain to me why it was evil, just that it was. And I accepted that.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Kor said, standing up. “None should hate or fear anyone without reason.”

“But they do.”

It took Sherry a moment to process that a new voice had spoken. They all turned to look around, but saw nothing. Then they heard a new sound: creaking footsteps coming from below. They hadn't inspected so thoroughly as to see if the place had a basement, but now they clearly heard someone walking on one.

The sound moved from below them further down towards the kitchen, as whoever it was moved calmly and without haste. Sherry got up first; the rest followed. They all stared at the entrance to the living room as the sound began to climb metal stairs.

“People have always feared those like you; it is the way things go,” the voice said, and Sherry grasped the hilt of her sword as she recognized it. If that was followed by a sound that chilled her even more.

*CRACK*

“You have yet to feel the true depth of the hate the other houses are capable of. Your father did, that's why he ended up the way he did.”

*CRACK*

Finally, a door opened somewhere, and the footsteps were now on the same floor, and getting closer.

“By the way, you should always check wherever you go to see if they have a basement,” Deadbone said as he appeared on the doorway, holding…a small handsome chest of dark laquered wood in his left arm.

“You never know what might be down there…or what, like this delicious snack I found.” 

Deadbone reached into the chest and pulled a long white bone, a rib, and then took a bite out of it, cracking it loudly like it had been made out of candy. Everyone backed a step unconsciously at the loud CRACK, and Sherry couldn’t stop staring with anger at the large green eyes.

“So very happy to finally meet you, Sherry,” Deadbone said, unconcerned by her drawing out her sword from its scabbard. “I wanted to ask you, when you first saw me, were you afraid you had driven your father mad?

“No, I know now that what I did to him was much worse.”

“You mean make me? Yes, you could argue that.” Deadbone entered the living room, strolling to move closer to them. He seemed completely unconcerned by their presence. 

Val was ready and less patient, however. He raised his hands to summon the magic, but Sherry motioned him to stop. They didnt know what they were dealing with yet.

“Though I can tell you that he wasn’t far away from madness by then. They asked him to fight a war, and you know what toll that takes, and then they turned on him…thinking on it, a better question would be why haven’t you gone mad?”

Sherry could see half a dozen openings to attack; she could rush him and strike with her sword with lethal precision. Stab him through the heart, cut off his head, or even split him in two if she liked.

“I know the little ‘status’ they gave you doesn’t ease the pain much,” Deadbone continued, unconcerned. “I’m sure it does make it all a bit more palatable, even when you know it’s nothing more than the Queen trying to ease her guilty conscience over what they did to you.”

 “You are far more trapped in the past than I am,” Sherry said, when she should have just attacked. She didn’t understand why she didn’t just finish him. He was not her father.

Deadbone smiled, and it was eerie; his pale white teeth seemed to shine as pale as his skin. “Yes, I suppose it’s something of a curse with our family.”

“YOU ARE NOT MY FAMILY!”

Sherry had struck; her hesitation turned into action by her anger, so it took her a moment to realize what had happened. She felt something break upon contact and assumed it had been him, but then she noticed the piece of black metal falling to the ground with a loud thud. It was the upper part of her sword.

She had connected, but her blade shattered upon hitting his arm when he blocked it. Only the sleeve of his suit was slightly cut; the skin underneath was smooth and untouched.

I’m not your daddy, Sherry, but you are mine.”

In a blur, he punched her straight to the chestplate, and Sherry gasped from the impact. The black armor had dented in the shape of his fist, as he sank it inwards, cracking her ribs. Mort and Val rushed in behind her, with the latter throwing a bolt of ice-blue lightning straight at Deadbone's face. It bounced towards the roof like it had hit something stronger, and shot through the three levels of the house and out into the sky above.

“I can’t use magic, but it doesn't do much to me either,” Deadbone said, his voice still placid. Val stood in shock at the sight, but Mort wasted no time, grabbed the broken blade on the floor, and stabbed it with both hands straight into Deadbone’s eye. Instead, he cut his own fingers off from the impact. 

"I do have other gifts,” Deadbone wiped some metal dust from his eye, which was unspoiled. He grabbed Mort by the neck, lifting him off the ground with ease.

“Osteoderms,” Deadbone said, his smile slightly morphing into a grin. “Bone plates under the skin, like crocodiles. Tough bastards, crocodiles. You could have shot one in the head, and the bullet would have bounced off.”

Mort struggled and tried kicking Deadbone in the head; instead, his own leg broke. Sherry snapped out of her own shock and went to his aid. She threw a flurry of punches into his stomach, but each hit felt like hitting bare rock with her naked hands. The metal that ought to have protected her collapsed further in with each blow, until she felt her hands bleed from the pressure.

“The irony is that when I first came to be, I was quite weak. I broke all the time, but not as broken as my mind was. Imagine being born in a brittle body with centuries of memories that feel like they don’t belong to you. I was less than any living creature at that point. My knees would crack under my own weight, and I starved, but nothing I ate would seem to quell that hunger.”

Sherry ignored the pain and kept hitting and kicking Deadbone even as she felt her own armor betray her. The blood fell from her limbs and pooled at her feet, but she would not stop.

“Not until I found my first grave."

Deadbone finally turned to look at Sherry, his grin now savage, which made her hesitate, and he took that opening to smack her with the back of his hand. The blow dented her helmet, and if she hadn't been wearing it, she was sure it would have dislocated her jaw.

"After a few centuries," Deadbone continued, "my own bones increased until I got to be harder than Diamonds. And then I began to have some thoughts of my own."

“You talk as if you think I care about your sorry story,” Sherry spat, removing the ruined headgear. 

“Of course you care, it’s all you do,” Deadbone said, still holding a struggling Mort of the air with just the one hand now. “Just look at your pitiful attachment to a dead man. You can’t let anyone go, and until you do, you will be weighted down by that pain and failure.”

“You should take your own advice."

“I tried nudging you in the right direction, to move on, and here we all are, all so you could finally let go.”

“Why would you care!”

Here, Deadbone’s face changed into a mixture of anger and sorrow that Sherry didnt understand.

“Because your father’s love is still up here," Deadbone snarled, touching his head. “And I wish to be free of it. You are both the reason and the bane of my existence, and I can’t bring myself to kill someone whom I remember for centuries that I never even lived. All your father wanted was for you to be happy, so I have tried to get you there. Let go of your idiotic pain and let go of your friend…so that I can let go of you.”

Sherry stared at him, thinking he had to be insane. The logic he followed certainly was. All this time, everything he did was just because of her father’s thoughts buried in his head? Was he nothing more than a horrible echo of him?

Deadbone searched her face, looking for resolve; instead, she knew he found only fear. His face contorted with cold fury at the sight. “I see. You still can be bothered to move forward and grasp your happiness. All right, then I guess I’ll do it for you.”

“NOOO!!!”

She tried to move, but her bloodied limbs would not respond in that moment. She could only see with horror as Deadbone turned to face Mort, drew him close, and then…crushed his head.

The sound was the worst she had ever heard, worsened by the feeling of the small invisible line of magic tethering her to Mort disappearing. His body dissipated, leaving only his bones and the shattered pieces of his skull, which clattered to the floor.

Deadbone bent to pick up the largest one, and looking at Sherry with disgust, he ate it. The cracking sound in his mouth imitated what Sherry imagined was her heart at that moment.

“I did my part for you, now you’re on your own. If I see you again…you follow him.”

With that, he turned and walked towards the front door, passing a terrified Kor being held protectively by her grandfather’s skeleton. Deadbne ignored them. And Val, who looked like his soul had left his body. There was nothing left inside her either. Not even madness. Just an absolute weariness that embraced her. She let it take her and fell to the ground. There was no pain anymore. She could just stare at the broken ceiling in peace.