Undeath is... occasionally inconvenient.

Sure, being a lich is incredible - I mean, cast some eldritch black ritual and be transformed into a fearsome sorcerous entity beyond the reach of the grave whose power and skill delves far past that which mortals were ever meant to know, yeah, that’s totally amazing…

…but there’s the small annoyances they don’t mention to you beforehand, like how you can’t enjoy “pleasures of the flesh” like good food or intimate contact anymore, since you’re just bones… or how aggravating it is to break the habit of thinking you still need sleep…

Not to mention the constant worry that one day, you’ll be in the middle of a rousing speech to your witless minions, or are enjoying a gloating mockery of the hero’s weaknesses… and bits of you might fall off and need to be wired back on. Totally kills the mood.


You know the saying “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak”? It’s true. Flesh is very, very weak.

In the grand scheme of world domination, it only lasts eighty years. Two hundred or so if you choose to mummify. But it’s brittle and tends to flake off, so why bother?

And as for bones… well… they last, it’s true. Nothing like a good coat of varnish to keep the decay out of bones. But choose the right wire. Iron and steel rust. Copper corrodes. Bauxite, though flexible, is weak and prone to tear.

Say what you like about tin, but bronze has lasting power.

It’s been a few thousand years since I last needed a wire change. The last time was embarrassing. The shiny hero got me monologuing and my jaw fell off.

Fell right off. Then and there. Right when I was about to tell all about my diabolical plan.

It’s hard to be taken seriously when one has to move one’s lower jaw with one’s hand like some carnival puppet.

Take it from someone who’s been there. Brass is best.

And it makes some pretty cool armour. I’ve even been able to fool heroes into thinking I still have fleshy parts to my mortal remains. That’s always good for a laugh.

And then there’s days like today. When the minions are particularly dense and the heroes are just too… bland… and I start to miss what the flesh once enjoyed.

Warmth. Taste. The smell of daisies. Dreams.

I can’t remember why I gave those up. Not today. Today, I envy the hero the kiss of his… bedmate. The warmth of their embraces. I watch him as he sleeps and wonder what his dreams are like.

Was the world worth it? Why was I working to rule this globe of sorrows?

But I can’t let those echoes of feeling ruin me.

I made a promise. And I intend to keep it.

I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.

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