Beautiful Death

It starts with the death of my father, Richard. I was 9. I remember at the funeral my mother knelt before his grave, dug a hole, dropped something in it, and buried it. 6 years later I know. After his death we moved from our house in California to Ohio. I hate Ohio. My wavy blond hair went poof! For 6 years I had horrible curly frizzy hair. UGG! During the 6 years in Ohio mom was quiet, we joined a community of people who looked like they were forever in mourning. My mom became one of them. She wore black robes and stayed up late every night. She kept secrets. Yesterday we arrived in California, what I saw scared me. Mom took me to the graveyard. The whole thing, a mile each way was covered in a black rose bush, even the roses where black. It was beautiful, but it was scary. Then mom took my hand and dragged me to the stone that said Richard Pewick 1958-20 The rest was covered with the bush. Right where mom had dug the hole 6 years ago a black stem protruded. Mom planted the bush. That scared me. But here is the worst part, mom just told me that she’s a necromancer, I am going to be the strongest necromancer of all time. I will be my job to bring the dead back to life. ¬†Geez A lot of pressure on a 15 year old girl.