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Undying Love

My wife died, half a year ago.
She fell, suffered, and passed away.
They burned her, gathered her ashes and scattered them over the Black Bowl of the Fathers where all the ancestor's ashes were stored.
My wife left me, just like that.

I thought I could bear it, but I couldn't.
I sneaked into the barrow and stole a handful of ashes from the bowl.
The ritual of necromancy requires the parts of the dead.

At last, she was back.
Good news. At least she's on the head.
Bad news. She doesn't seem so happy.