Prompt: "Oh, no!"

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They had to climb three flights of stairs to reach Vincent's new flat. To prepare for Scarlet's resurrection, he'd moved out of the shared apartment and into a small place without roommates. Now that he wasn't paying the necromancer to store Scarlet's body, he could afford to live alone with her, though it would be a while before they could get a nice place.

Moving out hadn't been optional, however. Vincent couldn't risk that someone would see Scarlet and recognize her before they had the chance to change her appearance. Necromancy—reversing the alleged reincarnation of the soul on its painful journey to enlightenment—was punishable by death. If anyone found out that he'd brought her back, the two of them—and the necromancer if the authorities caught him—would be executed. It mattered little that Vincent didn't believe in reincarnation.

Now finally at the top of the stairs, he reached into his pocket.

Oh, no! He paled. "I've dropped the key somewhere."

Scarlet chuckled and he turned to look at her. He could barely see the key dangling from her uplifted right hand.

"When did you pick my pocket?" he demanded. It had been years since they'd played that game.

"You were brooding the whole way here." She shrugged and tossed it to him. "We needed something to lighten the mood."

He looked down at the key in his hand and came to the horrifying realization that while it had been years since she'd picked his pocket, Scarlet had spent all of those years in the crypt. There were a lot of things he'd have to get used to now that she was back again.

"I get the feeling that within a week this flat will be more yours than mine," he said, tossing the key back to her.

She caught it and grinned. "You know me so well."

Vincent swallowed. But did she know him?


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