Deep in the bowels of the earth, a sleeping entity, worn and tired, preserved and cast aside, lay at rest. Not all monsters are evil; not all undying are twisted aberrations. Some merely need the right conditions: A little love. A gentle kindness. A tender spark. One day, a bolt descends from the sky: Chance, or fate, whim, or fancy. It strikes the cold, peaceful earth, and sets a heart within it to throb once: The ancient reactions of Galvani pulse through a home, a tomb, a lost soul. One errant twitch: and then another. And another. An eye, long rusted from sleep, opens, shedding the dander and the long seal of crust and exhaustion. The earth churns, and an ancient hunger burns... for salad.

A long, heated wash with steam that mats ancient hair, tangled and pale, falling and patchy. The smell of the Sweet-Earth begins to melt again, and a low, shaking growl pulses through a stomach, unaccustomed to fullness and digestion. Something twitches: An ear? An eye? More shampoo is needed, more soap. More coursing water. The rooms are dusty, unattended for years. The chambers are lonely, the blankets and sheets thick with thick un-use. The garden is tangled with weeds, grass growing among the vegetables that have grown wild and out of control, a battle of nature over years of twisted, uncontrollable slumber, and broken dreams.

No more.

No more.

Into the hot and cleansing steam, a soft-lined brush easing the aching tangles out. A soft tea, to cleanse the sinuses, slowly and without repentance, and to warm the frigid, scratchy throat, thick with rasping breath, until some of the cold of the death-sleep unwinds from the chest and the long passage to the stomach. An unsure testing of the teeth: thus ignored, they have become unruly and unwieldy, bordering on pained. A grinding is needed--thick, hard, juicy carrot, spicy, sharp turnip, crisp, blurring lettuce. A ragged breath, and then another, toasted bread, scrambled eggs, clear, sweet water, the stuff of life.

Not every undying creature is a monster.
Some just need the spark of life, the spark of tenderness.
Some just need a stray moment to live again.