"Thank you for your services," the Head Chronicler said.

"No thank you. It has been awfully lonely here anyways," the innkeeper said.

"Before I take off, I could offer you one last story. You gave me so much and without a coin."

"I was actually going to ask you about that. Specifically about you."

"Excuse me?"

"I got a general idea on who you are but who are you as a person?"

The Head Chronicler tilted her head as she placed a finger on her right cheek, thinking about the question carefully. The chronicler then thought of an idea as she looked confident in her answer.

"I guess I can tell you about my origin story," the Head Chronicler said. "It's the least I can do. Not everyone gets to hear this besides my heads."

"It's such an honor then," the innkeeper said.

"Very well, my final story shall be about me!" the Head Chronicler said as she suddenly took her head off.

Unlike the living heads in the cart, where the neck should be is not covered in skin but has a hollow dried up hole covered in dark smog. The Head Chronicler held her head like she would when telling stories and smiled.

...

Back as a child, I used to live the first parts of my childhood in Hilvania. At least from what little that I can remember. It was not that memorable and I was really young. What I remember most was how boring it was and how there were pitchforks against my family. Then again, my family had a long line of necromancers. The rest I know about that part of my life was from my uncle who was the only living member of my family when we escaped.

From what he told me, some golden priest wanted to massacre our family just because our business involves resurrecting the dead to create an army of the undead. Though in reality, we just have a business where we give people a chance to give a proper goodbye.

"Honestly, I thought necromancers would do the former more," the innkeeper said.

I can't blame you for thinking so as practicing necromancy can make you loony to even consider that as a hobby. Mixing with the grief of my dead family and the cost of necromancy, I was raised by my insane uncle who at least taught me enough to pass down to another generation in Barthorne. At least there, our services were welcomed with open arms. You thought I was strange, my uncle was stranger.

"Oi! Helena! This bottle is full!" my uncle said while trying to get drunk. He peeked at the bottle, wondering why it was filled with wine.

"I got you a new one uncle," I said.

My uncle took at it once more and complained. "I thought this was an empty bottle. Where's my empty bottle?"

"Empty bottles taste better than full bottles. Why? Because it doesn't burn your throat!" my uncle explained.

"Whatever you say," I said.

"Your real name is Helena?" the innkeeper asked.

Whoops! I meant to keep that a secret. Oh whatever. I kind of named myself the Head Chronicler based on the initials of my name. Helena Creep. My ancestors thought it was a cool last name for a long line of necromancers.

I often gave up trying to explain things to my uncle and went with it. There were days where I feared that I may end up like him in the future. He was at least sane enough to work in our typical necromancy services. In fact, that's when he is most sane which was why we were not poor. He believes that the art must be taken seriously because not everyone does.

"Don't assert too much magic, Helena. The dark arts is looked down on for how it corrupts the soul," my uncle scolded me when I was reviving a dead rat. "Rotting your soul bit by bit as you use not only your life energy but multiple energy sources within you."

"Why is this a thing?" I asked as I was slouching from exhaustion. "You kept telling me this over and over."

"Why is the sky blue? Why do we swim in the water? It's all part of the system and we're breaking it," my uncle said as he slowly went crossed eyed. "We do not follow rules and this is the sacrifice needed to rebel. Against everything the Pegasus stands for because fuck the Pegasus!"

I saw my uncle stepped back and started jumping up and down as if he wanted to make a tantrum. I'm used to this but it's still a spectacle to behold. Though from how I'm feeling now, I think I get the idea.

"Uncle?" I asked

"I WANT TO PLAY WITH DEAD BODIES!" my uncle said.

"Uncle, you are going nuts again," I said.

"Oh, sorry," my uncle said as he tried to snap out of it.

This is why we can't simply just bring my family back from the dead. You'll get the ghost equivalent of a rotten apple. Weak, squishy, rotten, insane, and smelly. Emphasis on the smell as my uncle tried bringing my parents back for my birthday and it was an awful experience. That's the cost of being a necromancer which is that you can't bring yourself back to life properly. Something can go wrong when bringing back the dead, but things always go wrong when bringing back a necromancer.

Even if my uncle was insane, he always tell me great stories. They might have become more looney as time went on but I loved every one of them. I could tell you what some of them are but they will take over the story.

"Can you give at least one example?" the innkeeper asked.

Well, there was a time he told me about four turtle brothers who lived underground and raised by a rat. It was a strange and twisted story with some humor sprinkled here and there. It's those types of stories that excited me as a child.

"Wow. I guess this is why you love sharing stories," the innkeeper said.

Kind of. That part of why I'm a chronicler is answered. Now onto why I collect heads to begin with. It was by accident during my studies in necromancy. I tried experimenting ways to bring back the dead while reducing the side effects. I started making assumptions and calculations on how to reduce the amount of magic needed for bringing back the dead. However, there was this one incident that helped me find that answer.

It was a normal day but a certain accident involving barrels crushed a girl to death. I was one of the witnesses in the bustling crowd as they gathered to see the poor girl. Doctors and the girl's parents confirmed that the girl is in fact dead, especially since all they could find was her head. Her body is probably mixed with the contents of the barrels. As the local necromancer, it's clearly my time to shine.

"Excuse me! Professional necromancer. Would you like to say your final farewells?" I said.

The parents looked at me and nodded. I was allowed to grab onto the head and take her back home to get to work. I was capable of resurrecting the dead without the aid of my uncle though I do get some strain in the process. I placed the head on a mat with runes and began chanting the spell to resurrect the head.

"Ooo eee ooo ahh ahh. Ting tang walla walla bing bang!" I said.

The eyes of the head started glowing as some life was returning even though the head still looked pale. Said head started reacting to her current state as the glowing slowly diminished. She then stared at me and looked surprised.

"Uhh... what happened? All I remembered was some jerk pushed me in front of some cart for not liking tangerines," the head said. "Who are you exactly?"

"Hi. Local Necromancer, Helena Creep. I hate to break it to you but you just died and I can only bring back your head," I said standing up straight and confident. Though I was surprised that I can still do that after performing said spell. "Wait, hold on."

Back then, I was surprised that I was not feeling tired from a simple necromancy spell. Normally a simple resurrection can really take a lot out of a person if they were not trained. Even with training, it can cause lots of fatigue. The fact that I was feeling alright means something is off. I thought to myself at the time that maybe it was resurrecting something smaller than a human.

"Sorry about the delay. I just made a new revelation in necromancy and... uh..." I said as I saw the head crying.

If you work as a professional necromancer with a legit business, be prepared to deal with people coping with grief. Especially over themselves.

I patted the head, "There there, I'm your friend here. I'll let you say your final farewell to your parents."

"That's not it! I got no body! I lost my body!" the head cried as she slowly calmed down. "Though I am grateful for you to do this. I'll just need some time before moving on afterwards."

"Oh. Uh... sure," I said. "But can you do me an additional favor?"

"I might as well since you did bring me back to life," the head said.

"I never really brought back just a head before and I wanted to test things out," I said.

"What type of tests?" the head asked.

"Mostly to see how long I can keep you alive and I'll experiment with other heads if I can get some," I said.

"As long as you take good care of me and let me see my parents sometimes, it's a deal til I'm finally dead!" the head said. "Oh. Just call me Wilma."

I did as promised to Wilma as I took her head to her family. Their reaction was to be expected since they have a head for a daughter.

"Oh Wilma! You have no body!" Wilma's mother said.

"How are you able to talk without lungs?" Wilma's father said.

"Let's not talk about that. I'm pretty sensitive on the matter," Wilma said. "I'm sorry for doing this to you two. I didn't know not liking certain fruit can get you killed."

"I'm surprised too," Wilma's father said.

"If I ever have a new sister, please teach her to love all fruit for her sake. I guess this is goodbye, but I promise to visit while I'm still a ghoul," Wilma said. "I think that's what I am."

"Undead or zombie. Ghouls kind of mixed in but we call our products the former two," I said.

Many days later, I often experimented on reducing the amount of magic used in necromancy. Sometimes with dead rats or the heads of dead rats. Sometimes my uncle provided me corpses to test out with permission of course. Thus, the obvious conclusion is that the less I need to bring back, the less magic used. Resurrecting only heads slowly became our business or a cheaper option.

As for Wilma, I kept her around and took a lot of care of her. I needed to maintain her connection to the world of the living by offering some of my magic constantly. It's not as much as resurrecting but it's hard to keep an undead up and running for a long time. I also got to feed her to keep her from going insane.

You know that rumor about the undead wanting flesh? It's due to a coping mechanism from going insane since the undead don't need to eat. Most undead at the time loved meat when they were alive so they go after meat. Wilma liked a variety of food so it was easy to keep her sane. Remember, the dead may not need to eat but it's the thought that counts.

However, there was always a cost to everything and I knew eventually it will happen. One normal day, Wilma got to take a look at herself in the mirror and found something on her cheek while screaming. It was a decomposing spot that appeared to be spreading, but very subtly.

"This eventually does happen you know," I said.

"You mean I'll just rot til I look like a monster?" Wilma asked.

"Not a monster. More like, just older," I said.

"That's ever worse!" Wilma said.

"You are dead and well all things kind of need to go. You should be proud that you lasted longer than most undead creatures who would be bone like," I said.

"That's not helpful at all!" Wilma said. "It's bad enough that I got no body. We add this!"

I tried to preserve Wilma as much as possible with my magic and it could only go so far. I resorted to telling her stories to keep her calm and sane, avoiding any stories about death or age. It was nice for my uncle to tell me stories but it's also as good to tell it to others. The stories helped for a bit but it grew more depressing as time went by as I grew closer to Wilma. Though I know her time will be up soon.

When Wilma was slowly becoming more skull like, she started to act very slow and sleepy. At best, she looked dried up. At worse, she looked like a typical undead minus the gore. Any visitors to the shop often confuse her for an artifact or skull, including her parents. Though the head didn't seem to mind, not that she could properly do so.

"A...ana...nd she she dddaiii ed?" Wilma asked as she is getting drowsy.

"Not really. She just tripped. That's all," I said as I then pulsed more magic into Wilma, making the head more awake.

"Ugh, I think that's enough. Is it dinner time? It's getting late," Wilma said.

"You just ate dinner," I reminded her.

"Oh. I normally have dinner around this time," the head said as some of her hair started to fall off. "Oh right. I live with you now. I can't believe that I'm becoming more forgetful. No wonder my parents aren't here."

I can only look in sorrow as her time was almost up. I simply petted her while avoiding ruffling her hair too much. It's her last remaining thing that helped her be seen as human or at least was.

Alas, Wilma was eventually reduced to only a skull two weeks later. She was still talking and sort of alive, but it felt more like a recording than Wilma herself. The skull glowed but got dimmer unless I kept pumping magic into her. She is sentient when she glows brightly, but when dimmed, she is only a shell of herself.

"Is it dinner time? It's getting late." Wilma asked.

"No," I said.

"Then I'll wait then mom," Wilma said.

"I'm not your mom," I said.

"Oh sorry. Excuse me ma'am," the skull said before she was getting more sleepy.

"Oh no you don't!" I said as I offered more of my magic.

"Argh! Helena, was I becoming stupid again?" Wilma asked. "I sometimes don't feel like I'm in the same room."

"Yeah and you might become a ghost soon," I said.

"A ghost?" Wilma cried

"Yeah. Your bond with your skull is weakening and you can only stay in the skull when I continue to fuel you with magic."

"Oh. Will I be able to float or have a body of sorts again?"

"Kind of."

The worst thing about dealing with ghosts was that they appear like the way they died. When I saw Wilma's ghost, her face looked like when she was alive. Her body however...

"Whatever. Better than nothing," Wilma said.

Her head sat on a bloody mush that was supposed to be her body. She looked as if her body was riding on some red sludge rather than being attached to it. Heck, her head sometimes hopped off of said mush sometimes.

"Thank you for taking care of me this entire time and sort of help me come to terms with my own death. I guess this is the part where I move on," Wilma said.

"Of course. Have a nice rest and I hope you are willing to visit when I call upon you," I said.

"Will do!" Wilma said as she faded away.

All that was left was Wilma's skull, now lacking any flesh or glow. I only kept said skull as a memento for my findings and a reminder of an old friend. I even have her in the cart as well and she would have told really special customers this story, but you have me which is also as good.

When news broke out on the matter, necromancers from around the world wanted to meet me after I shared my findings through Wilma. Though explaining the same thing over and over slowly got annoying until one day, I got an insane idea.

I got really tired at the time while there were many necromancers outside my house, wanting to learn my discovery. I simply placed Wilma's skull and called upon her spirit to possess it again. The skull glowed once more as she acted surprised. Can't really tell since skulls lack facial features.

"Helena, you called?" Wilma asked.

"Hey, remember the nonsense about my experiments?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's pretty straightforward. Even for non-necromancers," Wilma said.

"I kind of need you to tell those morons outside about that while I take a break. Make sure they pay a gold coin too since I charge for that service now," I said.

"I guess I will since you looked exhausted," Wilma said.

I opened the door and many necromancers flooded in. I told them that Wilma would be the one explaining everything. Rather than just giving a lecture, Wilma instead told it in the form of a story! All from the time of her death before she moved on. Normally I heard stories of things in myths or the past, but I never really bothered to care for stories in recent time. Though it was really nice to hear everything we went through in the form of a story.

“Then my skin started to rot starting from a dark spot,” Wilma said.

“Yeah, necromancy does make stuff rot faster,” said a necromancer.

“I kind of knew that,” Wilma said.

At some point, this slowly became a small business where we got skulls to tell stories. My uncle and I would set up some skulls outside and charge people for a gold coin to hear what the dead had to say. We managed to earn a good amount and gained enough popularity that the King of Barthorne at the time visited us to hear stories from the skulls and from close friends that died.

As I got older, I decided to do some travelling while expanding the business to the world. It’s not that I hated living with my uncle, but it was something we both thought about for a while. My uncle was slowly getting more senile from using too much necromancy spells, almost to the point where caring for him was hopeless.

His tantrums were growing feral and he constantly felt guilty over how he limited me from doing more in my life. Probably get married to someone or travel the world. At some point, I just agreed to make him less depressed. Before I left, he gave me some parting gifts.

“Helly. I managed to get some gifts before you go!” my uncle said as he showed me two boxes on a table.

“It’s Helena,” I said.

The man was sickly and had to rely on a cane for everything at this point. Though this was what he was like when he was sane, which is a sad sight to see. Better than when he started to act like a monstrous ghoul bent on eating flesh.

I took one of the boxes and opened the bigger one first. It was a really tacky rainbow cloak that I still wear to this day. I forgot to get something warm to wear so I could not judge.

“I made it myself,” my uncle said. “Now don’t worry. I got some help when making it.”

“Uncle, thanks,” I said.

I opened the next box and it was a crown of sorts. It looked like something you think a necromancer would wear if they were try-hards or to invoke the dark woods feel. I just placed it on my head before hugging my grandpa.

“I’ll miss you,” I said.

“I will too. You better be off before I get teary and hungry,” my uncle said.

I put on the rainbow coat and grabbed my bag of supplies and skulls for the journey. When I left the house, I became the Head Chronicler. It was the last that I saw my uncle as he died a few days later according to one of my visits back in town a few months later.

I was meant to be a traveling necromancer but people loved the heads telling stories part of my business that I just focused more on that. This story had gone on for a while. I guess this is the best place to stop as that was how I became the woman you see today.

...

“What about NBM?” the innkeeper said.

“That’s a long story on it’s own but to sum it all up, that old witch Nareel taught me when she was a little brat,” the Head Chronicler said as she put her head back on.

“Wait, you knew her for that long?” the innkeeper said. “You knew that awful person?”

“Yeah. I’m really old. Go figure,” the Head Chronicler said as she saw her hand getting skinnier before using some magic to rejuvenate the skin.

“I think I can tell how you were able to live that long,” the innkeeper said.

“I have to keep myself fresh everyday or else I’ll look like a zombie,” the Head Chronicler said as she finished packing up her stuff.

“This is goodbye then,” the innkeeper said.

“Farewell. I’ll probably see you again or not. No promises,” the Head Chronicler said as she got into her cart.

The cart started to move on its own as it went outside of the inn and into the wood. Who knows where the cart may end up? What is known is that the cart is still traveling.