“People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.”
———————————————————————-
You have been gone a long time.
The world has changed since you left.
Have you forgotten your own children so soon?
The half moon hid on this particular eve. Sparkling eyes could sometimes be seen peeking through the clouds, both curious and perhaps even frightened at the same time. Normal marsh nightlife was scarce. Not a single snarl from the common beasts let alone a chirp from the smallest insect. The winds were low and although moisture clung to the warm air, there was a faint and unfamiliar chill steadily swarming the wet grounds engulfing it like a sudden fire. Above flew a flock of crows - not a single caw uttered. But they flew in circles, over and over again, as if they were frantically searching for either pray or purpose. Something is here! Something we want!
Thousands of thousands of miles below the ground, beyond one’s ability to measure, rested a snug little corner of the world where nothing existed. In this corner was naught but a moist, cool darkness surrounded by worms and remains and roots of the forgotten. Death had long engraved it’s stench within this eternal resting place and claimed it’s stake long before the beginning. This little cubby hole was where they were left to rot in their misery and maniacal self hatred. Where they sat in darkness reminiscing on what was and would never be again. Where they screamed and cried for retribution or damnation, whichever promised to arrive first. Time had long dissipated. What could have been months turned into years and years turned into new planes. A ticking clock held no meaning here except as a reminder of simply more time to dwell. Dwell and stew. Wait and continue to writhe in mental pain trying to make sense until someone decides to lay claim to their souls.
Even the burning gates of hell themselves would’ve served as a preferred final resting place, but death never came for her. Over and over final peace seemed but just an arm’s length away but was always out of reach. I can’t do this anymore…I can’t do this…. a voice, ever so gently, whispered into the endless nothing. I simply wish to die. The voice cracked, a wheeze followed, then silence. A few moments or maybe even an eternity passed before the voice tried again. Please… the voices… the memories… I need to die… Nothing. There was always nothing. The lack of response only drove her further into madness, digging harder and deeper with every failed attempt. Every time she spoke flashes of past times danced before her earthly self and sent the remaining mental state into a downwards spiral of neverending destruction. The tree, deityhood and the Veil. Her children, the blackbirds, Norah… past lovers and past fighters all became ever so clear and ever so present. So realistic as if…
We can lend you life.
We can give you back.
A price to be paid.
It took every ounce of strength she could muster, but in reply only offered a fragile scoff. Life? What was left? Surely the world has already perished once, maybe twice, and a new has grown over in it’s place. What would she do? Whom would she survive for? I think … death may be best… The world that long turned her skin and bones into fertilizer had changed far too much for comfort. The voices inside, though, begged to differ. Did she remember what the grass felt like? Did she remember the chills that used to rush down her spine after just grazing the fine throat of a tavern maid? Did she remember how warm and euphoric the taste of blood felt? Did she remember those piercing emerald eyes? The fiery sensation of running her fingertips across that devilish jawline while peeling layer upon layer of clothing away…
We only want to feed your desires.
We only want our desires fed.
Come home.
Was it truly that easy? Just wake up above ground as if she’d never become one with the world at all? No, it couldn’t be that simple. For some time she held her tongue and pondered what if. What if she just… opened her eyes?
We can give you skin.
We can give you bones.
You must dig.
And suddenly in that cold, deep darkness, two crimson orbs began to flicker to life.
Above the flock of blackbirds starting shrieking as they abruptly beamed for the ground. Perhaps they knew what was growing from below and only wanted to help their mother bloom.
