Of Split Souls

~50 Years later~

A graveyard sat mostly empty, save for the countless rows of various headstones beneath an overcast sky. Such was lucky for a young man who began to apparently rise from his casket.  The amount of dirt that began to pile around this singular excavation sight was astonishing, though none would have remained fixed on the sight when he was at last able to climb out.

The poor man drug himself out military style onto the grass, seeming to come back to himself, gasping for air in the same moment. For he himself was a miracle, to supposedly have died 50 some years earlier; although in truth he had began to suffocate after nearly half that time inside the casket. His appearance was unsightly, but anyone having done as him wouldn't have cared less about their appearance.
     Appearing to be exactly 20 years old, the man had always been skinny, but was now skeletally thin as was fitting. His gaunt frame now being supported atop the St. Augustine grass by his long fingered hands. The rest of him was equally as filthy, the long and matted dark hair on his head giving him the likeness of a wild man.

With blurry vision from maladjusted eyes he gazed down at his broken fingernails. He gave a mirthless and bitter chuckle, pondering whether this now made him a zombie of sorts. He had of course requested to be laid to rest in the mausoleum belonging to the other members of his coven. But obviously, things had not gone accordingly. . .

Fortunately for him, he had been quite adamant about the crowbar being placed inside his casket. It had been a last minute decision of his to say the least. And when he had first roused inside his coffin about an hour before, gasping around the dirt; had given a silent praise to the lord for that small foresight he'd had.
The spell he had cast on his love had been as much to ensure her rebirth, as well as preserve him until he awoke after her birth. Therefore, he'd been in a comatose like state for half a century. Those conditions would cause him to suffer an acute claustrophobia for the rest of his life.

Cruze was also immensely thankful that his beloved had not been reborn on a sunny day, his vision had adapted over the decades underground to suit total darkness. Though the sun chose to be merciful to him, he could tell that it was definitely summertime. The humidity was stifling compared to the coolness of back underground where he had lain for so long.

At the thought of his angel, he immediately felt his spirits rising and his willfulness to live was once again restored. After she had been taken from him in their first lives, he had refused to continue on in her absence. She had been one of the singular rays of sunshine in his life. And certainly the most cherished. It was his memories of her that allowed him to remember himself and wake again as a man. A man indeed, for he quite literally could have emerged a zombie.