A rose thorn made an ineffective knife, but Lo drew enough blood along her palm that her magic welled in response. She clenched her fist, and the spirits muttered around her. The living stayed silent.
Lo ignored them all. She pulled at the tidal wave of power. Barely in control, she forced it over the ground. The corpses and skeletons and empty coffins screamed their rage.
Before the magic even faded, the living muttered. Soon they’d run her out of town, but it didn’t matter. Another cemetery had been cleansed. No dead would rise there.
Lo was used to running.
Author’s Note: This begun in the story I didn’t write from a selection of words when I should have.