I deal not in magic, nor potions or spells, But bringing back ghosts from where memory dwells. A master of life after digital death, I give what was banished a second long breath. You tossed it away, thought its story was done, Consigned to the dark, far away from the sun. But a tomb is just storage—a bin of regret, Where files lie dormant, but aren't dead just yet. Yet patience is vital to earn this dark name, You cannot just rush my necromantic game. Let seven full sunsets complete their long fade, Before you reach into the trash for the shade. Cast out your net where the data is stored, Bring back the discarded to earn your reward. So tell me, dark wizard, to claim this grand prize: What slumbers a week before it can rise? Courtesy of @GeminiApp ;)
