It had been ages. Kitanna had traipsed here and there, thinking she could always come back to her beloved barrow and the City of the Dead. For a while it seemed the old dwelling had been lost to smoke and fog, fallen into complete disrepair. However, the dark days appeared to be over.
Kitanna laughed maniacally to see the city repaired. With the old crazed twinkle in her eye, Kitanna wandered through the gate to find old friends and partake in merriment. After all, everyone knew wights threw the best parties.
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"Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." - Mark Twain
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