Chapitre 57: Necromancy III

'Beowulf, my Beowulf,' the unnamed woman lulled beside her companion. Her voice was like the sweetest honey, the softest kiss, melting the hearts of mortal understanding. She kissed his cheek, stained by the luscious red. "Why do you cry?" 

Around him, Beowulf looked down at the skewed remains of man and woman mountain upon a cross. Impalaed by several spears, their bodies were lined with multiple lacerations, so deep, pristine white bones presented themselves. 

"It's happening again," said Beowulf softly. 

"This was the deal," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing in his scent. He smelt of soot. "Slay the parents of Dean to regain your previous physique." 

"They were innocent," replied Beowulf.