Corvus

My shadowy feathers ruffled out at odd angles, but without my wings I could not fly. A red ribbon tied around my middle held them to me. I cried out in horrid screeches, begging the wind to carry my sound down from the turret that was my prison. Slowly they arrived.

The first raven wrapped me in words. He nuzzled my skin with his beak and orated distractions. A nest of dictation. But it did not save me from the tower.

Then came the second. His beak was razor sharp. He nipped at my bindings until they fell from me. He left me bare and wounded. He kissed them so sweet that I forgot he had been my abuser. Bandages of pain. But it did not save me from the tower.

Next, in response to my tearful screeching was a crow who’s heart was on the outside. He dried my tears with his own weak wings. And in his fervor to save me, he strangled me. Squeezing the air from my lungs. But it did not save me from the tower.

In desperation, I threw my shining, midnight body into the glass. A winged shadow charging incessantly. I flew into it like one returns to their home. My body weak and wounded. Old scars opening. Crimson splattering the glass. Cracked edges tearing my plumes from my skin. Until it all split. And I tumbled from my steeple. And I was certain this was my end. The air too much for my broken wings. And as I crashed to the ground my landing was broken. Black feathers from my ravens. A pile of down.

And I swore I heard it whisper.

And it kissed away my fissures.

And it dried away what pain was left.

And all three had become one.