A Simple Side-effect of One's Undead Condition

She had sat in the crypt for eons.

Her tanned fingers had progressively lost the luster that they had once held in life. Now hidden from the sun, they'd grown blue-white, pale. Though she didn't think that mattered much. Once a persons blood lays still beneath their skin for a millennia there were sure to be some side-effects.

She assumed it had been a millennia.

The years had begun to pass in seconds for her long ago. For months she could remain in the same position. Coming to, with dust accumulated on her fingernails and webs coating her brittle hair. These were the only indicators to her that time had passed at a great, imperceptible length.

On occasion she would cough up gravelly crunchy balls. A hard rock, that was an accumulation of dust and dirt, had combined in her lungs as they sat empty and unused. A simple side effect of her undead condition. The lone sacs were a perfect vacuum for whatever materials her body came into contact with.

This was how she lived.

She considered herself a separate being from her physicality. Her mind was the only thing that remained that had any semblance of a will. Some strange longing that she didn't understand - to continue. And the other. The thing. The Body. Which trapped her in this plane. Was a nuisance.

She easily placed blame on The Body which neither offered her freedom by dying nor living.

if only she had been a more powerful necromancer.

Her plan wouldn't have failed. And if it had, which was unlikely, she would have simply ripped the feeble chains that bound her spirit to The Body. Crawl into the ether and find a new way. An existence that didn't include constant disassociation and hardened, heavy, rock-filled lungs. Maybe she would take up a new hobby like collecting bones or playing cards.

Her existence was pitiful and, against her ego-driven judgment, she was ashamed.

If she could - if this God-forsaken Body had the ability - a tear would escape her duct. She squished on her hardened cheeks. Moved the eyes laterally and then around in circles against the particles within them. Nothing.

Once, upon a time she was A Lady - Mistress of Night. A harrowing sight, as told to her by all her closest acquaintances and cowering visitors. She had been A Queen above her skeleton horde. She would call upon them and they'd answer dutifully. Their loyalty never swayed by extra meals or good pay. Their bones clinking against her crystalline floors reverberate in her skull making her wistful of the times past.

She looks around, dust accumulated on her brittle nails that she doesn't really care to remove any longer. She notices her body is a part of a resident spider's intricate web. Its silky thread entangled within her hair and clothing. Its nearly comforting. A place where she could just... sleep.