Spite

She stared intensely at the scythe in front of her before reaching out her hand to grab it. It trembled slightly as if it was unsure. She heard the voices of spirits, demons, and ghost encouraging her.

"Yes, grab it"

"Come on take the power of death"

"We are lonely"

"Ooo this one has already kil-"

"Quiet!"

Her last thread of patience snapped and she grabbed the scythe. Immediately the voices were silenced. All you could hear was the blowing of the wind and her heavy breathing. Her master came up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. Looking at the weapon that his student had chosen he sighed.

"Power over the dead is a difficult burden to carry"

She tightened her grip on her sword and whispered in a low voice, "Those who have power over the dead have power over the living."