The Handsome Necromancer at Thistlewood Inn

(POV: Sylvie)

The broom handle felt heavier with every stroke against the dusty floorboards of the Thistlewood Inn. My back ached brutally, and the creak of the ancient wood almost felt like it was mocking my all-day effort.

Not a single guest had stopped by.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, I let out a long breath that burned in my chest. My eyes drifted toward the corner of the lobby, resting on a dull wooden frame hanging against the stone wall.

In the faded photo, Grandma smiled warmly, her arm around my small shoulders right in front of the inn's entrance.

Back then, the Thistlewood Inn was always alive with the laughter of adventurers, the scent of freshly baked apple pie, and the warmth of a hearth that never died out. Now, the inn offered nothing but silence—and a mounting pile of bills sitting on the front desk.

"I can't give up now, Grandma," I whispered to the empty room.

Yet reality hit far harder than my best intentions. If I couldn't pay the local town taxes for Bramblewick by the end of this week, these carved wooden doors would be locked for good.

My chest tightened as I fought back a surge of tears. I rubbed my face roughly, trying to push away the anxiety gnawing at my mind.

Suddenly, a strange chill crept up from the soles of my feet, spreading rapidly through my body. My head suddenly felt impossibly heavy, throbbing as if struck from the inside by a blunt object.

Feverish heat and icy chills hit me all at once, making my knees shake violently.

"Ah, damn it... don't get sick now," I muttered, gripping the edge of the front desk.

A high fever seemed to have hit my exhausted body out of nowhere. I remembered the box of herbal medicine Grandma had left behind, stored up in the old attic.

With unsteady steps and heavy breathing, I forced myself up the winding wooden staircase to the top floor. Every step creaked loudly, breaking the chilling stillness of the night outside.

The attic of the Thistlewood Inn smelled distinctly of old paper, dry dust, and the faint, faded scent of lavender.

I rummaged through a large wooden chest in the corner, shifting aside several bolts of thick fabric and stacks of ancient books. Beneath a hidden compartment in the bottom of the chest, my fingers brushed against something smooth and cold.

A clear, unlabeled glass bottle was tucked away inside. It held dried, silvery leaves with a rather unique shape.

The moment I pulled out the cork stopper, a deeply soothing herbal aroma bloomed into the air. A warm, slightly sweet fragrance—like a blend of cinnamon and fresh morning wildflowers.

The throbbing pain in my head eased slightly just from inhaling the scent.

This must be one of Grandma's special herbal tea blends, I thought with certainty.

Without hesitation, I carried the glass bottle back down to the kitchen. The hiss of boiling water inside the copper kettle was the only musician in the kitchen tonight.

I pinched a handful of the silvery leaves and dropped them into my favorite ceramic cup. As I poured the boiling water over them, the liquid instantly turned a softly shimmering gold.

The aroma bloomed even further, enveloping my senses in a deeply comforting warmth. I carried the cup over to the dining table and took a slow sip.

The first gulp was bliss, trickling down my throat and burning away the chill in my chest. The second gulp instantly dissolved the stiffness in my joints.

But the very next second, a strange sensation stirred inside me. The warmth of the tea didn't stop in my stomach; it climbed rapidly up through my neck and into my head.

A sharp pulse beat directly behind my eyes. My vision, clear just a moment ago, began to warp and ripple. The wooden walls around me seemed to shift like water struck by a pebble.

I gripped the edge of the kitchen table, trying to hold onto my slipping balance.

"Wait... what kind of brew did I just drink?" I rasped under my breath.

The effect was completely unnatural, yet strangely enough, my feverish dizziness had vanished completely. In its place was a subtle pulse of magic, humming right behind my eyelids.

I forced myself to stand, walking slowly out of the kitchen toward the lounge to collect myself. One hand held the half-full cup of tea while the other rubbed my tingling temples.

The moment I stepped across the threshold into the lounge, my eyes went wide. I froze in my tracks, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Sitting on Grandma's favorite red velvet sofa was an old man dressed in vintage attire, complete with a faded cloak and a strange hat. A thick tome rested on his lap, and he was casually reading under the dim light of a candle.

The main problem wasn't his eccentric clothing. The main problem was that the old man was floating casually a few inches above the sofa cushions.

His body was faintly translucent, radiating a faint blue glow.

I could see the wood carvings on the sofa's backrest right through his torso. The air caught in my throat.

"This is just the fever talking," I whispered to myself, trying to rationalize the absurd sight. "Right. Total hallucination from that weird tea and sheer exhaustion."

I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing them until they stung. Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened them again, hoping that the crazy sight would be gone.

My logic was smashed to pieces.

The translucent old man had stopped reading. He was looking directly at me, a wide, mischievous grin stretching across his wrinkled face.

Before I could scream or turn to bolt, he glided through the air with absurd speed.

Whoosh!

A blast of cold air smelling of aged paper hit my face. In the blink of an eye, his spectral figure was right beside me.

His pale, floating face hovered right next to my ear, just millimeters from my neck. An icy chill made every hair on my body stand on end.

His translucent lips parted, greeting me in a breezy tone.

"Tea could use a bit more sugar, sweetie."