I have a special fondness for the dead. They are like my family, my children.
The mindless, walking dead are matched only by small children in their cruelty.
You get used to the smell after a while. I don't even notice it anymore.
Try to think of me as a preserver of antiquities, a curator of sorts, if it helps to put you more at ease.
Why do we all wear black? That is simple; We necromancers are a utilitarian lot, and if you are going to be digging, you do not wear white.
Could you give me a hand? No, that hand. It's still down in the hole. I'm afraid it came off when I pulled the rest out.
Perhaps when your bones are forgotten, lost in the cold ground, it would bring your soul some warmth to know that someone had still some use for them. That someone had a need they could yet fulfill.