where the blackbirds talk

just as a snake sheds its skin,

we must shed our past over and over again

― Gautama Buddha

Much later, the same day.

The key slips in smoothly into the lock as I turn it and push the door slowly open, to the apartment 24 B. The place is dark and empty, just the way it was supposed to be since the girl was still elsewhere. I made sure of that. Besides, her being here would not be an obstacle, more an inconvenience. My lips spread into a lazy smile. That meeting might have been really amusing, well, for me anyway. I turn on a small lamp that stands on a narrow table behind the sofa; it gives me just enough light to see my surroundings. My eyes drift from one surface to the other, grabbing each detail with focus, memorizing everything that might come in handy one day. I let my fingers slide against the smooth surface of the table, yet sensing each crack and dent as I move forward without any rush. Let’s see what we are dealing with here.

Once again, I gaze at the one big room without any walls in between, just the dark wooden beams and the furniture, giving a visually pleasing hint to the divided areas. Old and used hardboard floors making soft sounds under my feet, while the orange glow from the street lantern keeps me company, mixing with the soft light of the little lamp behind me. I could probably turn everything on and illuminate the whole place, and no one would even care. But I enjoyed the intimate setting of it all, plus my eyes were very sharp and had no problem seeing everything even in the dark, just in different colors. The darkness never spoke of golden murmurs like the day and embraced itself in the inky black flavors between space dust. Yet to me, it was waving purple shadows and mossy faded green tones. The time of day never mattered much to me, as I always let myself sink into this world, thick and deep waters of the universe taking me in.

My lungs take in more air as my brain once again focuses on the task at hand, words from a few hours back echoing in my head.

Where does she keep it, Ramsey?

It’s on her nightstand, in plain sight for anyone to see.

Of course, why would she hide it? She lived alone, and there was only her energy to occupy this cozy nest of hers. But somehow, I sensed that she liked to keep it under the pillow, tucked safely with her over colored dreams. My eyes drift to the brick wall, and I slowly walk to the bed as if a silent predator cautious of what it may find on its way. Lungs inhale deeply, taking in her smell that moves around me. Peppermint, soap, a lingering scent of a summer day, plus a kind nature mixed with stubbornness. Both annoying and alluring. Dangerous combination.

My hand reaches the sketchbook as if in slow motion, fingers moving against a material that looks like leather but is obviously just a pretty imitation. I open it and flip through countless pages of rough drafts of figures, shapes, and scenery. Mmm, she draws very well, but I have seen better. The paper rustles lazily until I find something that was said to grab my attention. I never asked Ramsey what it was, my mind craving to discover it on its own and without any distractions. Suddenly my fingers stop, body freezing for a moment as my whole being seems to shift, particles adjusting to something once known but forgotten with new centuries of reliving my old mistakes in brand new lives. My sentence until I conquered all the obstacles that wanted me gone, finally thriving.

This scene.

I take it in gradually, watching two young women during a battle, the moment stopped in time with almost perfection, showing one of them from the back, her long brown hair moving in the wind, as lightning blasts out of her hands and hits the other girl. The electric energy pierces her heart and is surely the cause of her downfall and defeat. I cannot see her face for the bright light covers it, or any features that might give me a clue to her true identity. My muscles tense and shoulders roll, fists tensing, as I use my last form of restrain not to turn the notepad into just a pile of ash and dust. Eyes focusing on the smaller details, so I wouldn’t leave her flat and the entire building in flames and a worthless mass of rubble. Concentrate, Lilly. Come on. Colors, textures, shapes. Both of the women are wearing long dresses that were a strong suggestion to the medieval times, damaged from the battle but still with vibrant colors and fabric that spoke of wealth and status. Deep green and sapphire for the one with her back to me, and ruby with gold on the one touched by lightning. Contrast. Opposite colors and energies, two worlds colliding.

Too familiar to breathe.

My mind whispers silently, as I know exactly what it is that I am looking at. A past life nestled into your soul, child, don’t ever forget you are made of stars that lived far longer before you even started to imagine creation and its infinite laws.

I touch the paper again, now with strange softness. Familiar. I have seen this before in my dreams, this soul of mine gliding within those days. I shake my head, and the notepad slips onto the bed, opened on the page I did not want to look at, a groan escaping my mouth, as I shove it to the floor, anger gliding in my bloodstream with dangerous fierceness. Not possible. Coincidence. My lungs move with growing speed, fires licking my veins, threatening to...

Wait.

My mind stops the frantic thoughts for a moment.

Just maybe.

She could be a storyteller, I heard of those before. It’s this unique person that remembers energies and moments that she or he was once connected to, or that they experienced themselves on some level. Is she that? Or truly the Raven that can change everything? It all leads to her, yet the time and events do not match. Nothing matches, just the frame they put me in. But fragments of the picture that was my life, they still clash.

My stare falls to the sketchbook again, and my back straightens, muscles tensing, the energy within me growing and adjusting, remembering lines from a children’s story once whispered by my mother in the dead of night.

where the blackbirds talk, the quill cuts deep

its raven feather staining the paper white,

like crimson drops of blood on fresh snow

draw me a picture, sweet child

smile, your last smile

before you sink into the dark

My eyes narrow, as I throw away the words that still lingered in my mind after all those years. No more time wasted on foolish things, actions were needed, not fantasies.

Now. I see that I have to arrange a meeting with her, face to face. A little visit to the cafe might be appropriate, and very advised. Probably a wise option before she accidentally pulls another stunt on me, and I drift to the moon or beyond this time. Sarcasm rubs my veins as I step away from the bed and fall into an armchair by the window. Hair lifting in the air for a moment and then falling softly with the natural pull of gravity. Tickling and hugging the sides of my face, creating a soft curtain of curls, separating me from the world, my whole form shifted forward, legs spread wide, elbows placed on my thighs.

Body language building and securing power.

A tall lamp with a beige cover keeps me silent company as I play with its switch, turning it on and off in a thoughtless manner, mind trying to make some sense of it all. What was this reality that I seemed to step in unwillingly? This was not how things were meant to play out, how they were promised to me by my kin. I sigh, and eventually slip out of her place and into the night, just before a simple black and white clock on the wall marks 3 a.m. It was late, and that hour never meant anything good for anyone. Time lost somewhere between the dead of night and a day to come. So many more things for me still to do, beginning with a little brunch rendezvous with my possible future demise.

It has been a while since I felt her directly, and not just in my bloodstream. I wonder if she still tastes the same in my cells.

______

I after I get back, don’t even sleep, I wait.

Anticipating the morning and seeing her again. Feeling her. My thoughts were too distracted to focus after what I saw drawn on that plain paper. Too many things roaming around in my head to let me rest. So, instead of sleep, I chose to feed off my energy, constantly training and shifting blue orbs in the air, letting them out and consuming them again, a constant dance in my restless body. Putting out anger, and breathing in calm. Soothing my senses and consuming pleasure to survive my inner torment. I was fighting against the nightmares that could come in the still hours of the night. Both searching for answers and driving myself insane from the possible things I could find out, balancing somewhere in between the lines of madness.

But eventually, the sun always comes up. And I won’t run from my destiny.

Never.

_____

I watch her slowly. Hair combed back into a loose, bit messy ponytail. She’s wearing a white plain t-shirt, a black short skirt, and a little apron to match, a notepad sticking out of the pocket, a pair of worn-out black snickers with yellow shoelaces finishing the whole look. My stare must penetrate her soul because she suddenly stumbles while leaving new orders at the kitchen window. My eyes follow her as she turns around a few times, confused as if someone called her name, or she felt a tiny earthquake and wanted to find a cause behind it. Finally, she spots me, sitting at a faraway table, a calm smile shifting my features.

If she knew any better, she would run away, sensing the danger lingering behind this smile. But, of course, that’s not the case here; a blush covering the already rosy cheeks, a delighted grin lightening up her face, the shock of seeing me drifting away rather fast. Interesting. Does she not see both of us can bring a downfall to the other? No, why would she. Instead, she goes back to the kitchen but keeps looking back at me, stumbling a few times more. After about five minutes, she comes out, a hand holding a criss-cross dishcloth pushing her out, and swiftly disappearing behind the swinging door. I focus, to keep my face straight as she comes over and stands next to my table, her foot tapping nervously. I look down and then slowly up, once more taking in her figure and clothes.

She should keep an eye on that, it might become a tick.

I throw her a seductive smile that contrasts with what I just said, gazing satisfied as she catches her breath. I won’t lie, watching her sweat and wriggle like that under my stare was very satisfying. Maybe it will become a hobby of mine soon, who knows.

You’re back.

She says quietly, and I think I can hear her heart pound all the way here.

Mmm, yes. Apparently, I was promised a dessert of my choosing not long ago. Does the offer still stand?

Definitely, and on the house, either you like it or not.

She tries to sound stern, but the ever-growing smile gives her away.

I won’t fight you on it, this time.

There is some pressure to my words, a silent forecast to a much darker day. She must feel the energy shift a bit, yet it only fazes her for a moment, her smile returning, the small crease between her eyebrows quickly disappearing.

Of course, you won’t, as you would lose anyway. I’m very stubborn when I put my mind to something.

So am I. Finally, a quality that we share.

She rolls her eyes playfully and gets her notepad out, pencil ready.

So, what will it be?

Amuse me.

Alright then... a chocolate brownie with a caramel glaze, and a raspberry mousse on the side, kicking with an extra sour taste to the sweetness of the cake. Something tells me you will like the contrast of it, those two flavors both competing with each other and somehow fitting perfectly.

I listen to her as the way she speaks changes. Cooking seemed something that she was good at and that she took pride in knowing her culinary background well. Almost as if the subject brought out the maturity in her, adding an additional ten years to her behavior. I never noticed that, but then again, I had more concerning things to think about than some baking goods secrets she was willing to share with me. I lightly smile at her, and instantly, it’s as if I was staring at an over blushing little thing, no older than sixteen. Though, I am aware that she is much older than that, even if the exact number elates me right now. What a damn contrast this one was.

So, how about it? Sounds good?

Yes, mouthwatering. I will have that, please. Plus, a tall glass of chilled lemonade, definitely none of that room temperature nonsense.

Okay, coming right up.

I almost see her lift in the air as she walks away, her energy so light and bubbly. As if that mood was solemnly my doing. Peculiar. Somehow, I already felt like I needed a drink, a strong one. I think as my fingers tap against the table, drumming to an unknown beat. It takes a few minutes for her to come back, a faint but rushed conversation drifting from the kitchen. She finally steps out with a tray and a simple white plate on it, a little piece of food art moving my way as my smile turns a bit more genuine. I watch her fix her misbehaving hair a bit before she walks over.

That does look lust-worthy.

I murmur out, gazing at her figure as she blushes with power. I take a second or two before pointing at the dessert with a smirk, letting her know what I actually meant.

It, uhm... definitely is.

Did you bake it?

I make my voice smooth out its edges, and she smiles, exhaling.

Yes, I bake most of the things here, unless there is some form of a celebration or a party, then we order from our local caterer. She’s amazing, and honestly, the best in town.

I’m sure that she is.

My gaze shifts to her bright blue eyes as I move the plate closer, yet don’t touch the food. Strange, I never really noticed her eye color before. Not properly that is. My head tilts to the side slowly. As if moving waters between smooth rocks, springtime after the snow melts. First sun rays reflecting in the waking up life. I could almost hear the sounds of the stream as I gazed at her. She was the spring, and me the smoldering summer. My eyes narrow, bringing me back to what I wanted to say.

Your face seems to heal much better than I would have expected it to.

Her body stiffens a bit before she starts to wriggle her fingers.

Oh... it’s just that...

Yes?

My whole body shifts forward a bit, voice sweet as honey, eyebrow lifting slowly. Mind mentally noting her every reaction and stutter and rushed heartbeat, as if a natural lie detector. I watch her wave her hands fast as if trying to get away from a swarm of bees.

It just wasn’t as bad as it seemed to be, and Mel has some good home remedies on her. She uses a lot of natural herbs and ingredients to make medicine and ointments.

Of course, she does.

I shake my head softly and smile at her.

Then you are in the right hands, aren’t you?

The girl relaxes a bit as if she finally stepped into a safe zone.

Yes, in the best of hands. I could not ask for a better friend. She’s pretty much family to me.

I don’t answer, instead, take a little fork and slide it into the brownie as it melts into it like butter. Slowly I put it to my mouth and taste it with pleasure, holding back a soft moan, eyes half-closed. Then I do it again, this time mixing it with the raspberry mouse, and it’s like a damn explosion in my brain and on the tongue. I shift the plate away to compose myself a bit.

Do you like it?

You forgot the lemonade.

Her face turns pale for a second before it heats up again and matches the color of the mouse on my plate.

I’m so sorry. I really don’t know what’s happening to me lately. I can’t seem to focus on anything.

She moves away, and I quickly grab her hand, while at the same time knowing the risk of touching her. But it doesn’t feel like last time, it’s more muted. Wren’s remedy seemed to be working its magic. Good. My eyes fall on the girl, and I know she senses the difference too. Fingers slip from hers, and I cross my arms, more at peace, knowing the medicine was serving its purpose. A small advantage, tickling the skin.

That’s fine. We all make mistakes.

I gaze at her and add kindly.

The dessert is... well, it’s not often that I am lost for words.

Try.

She whispers, and I can feel that we are both surprised by her action. I straighten a bit on the chair and take the time to answer, a part of me not understanding why I even bother to do that. My voice is low and almost sensual as I speak.

It’s an explosion to all the senses. A truly...

I slowly suck the air in, feeling my energy starting to expand.

Mmm, a truly cosmic experience. One can almost feel galaxies dancing around on the tongue, building spirals of lazy content.

I slip one more fork of the dessert into my mouth as her eyes gently search mine as she takes in all that I said, a smile forming on her lips.

Thank you.

Her voice is soft but shaking a bit.

Yes. Now, my drink?

She jumps back into life and quickly rushes back, an empty tray clutched under her arm as I wonder quietly to myself. Will every day be stranger now than the one before? You would think that I saw it all by now. Yet here I was, both confused and more intrigued than ever.

There you go, as always on the house. Sorry for before.

I look up at her and nod, taking a few sips of the cooled liquid, its taste both sweet and sour, giving it that delicious kick that homemade lemonade should have, not the things they sell now. She inhales and waits for something but then quickly changes her mind, probably suspecting another refusal, just as the last time. Learning from her past, a very good quality.

Ray?

Her name falls out softly out of my mouth. She blinks a few times, not expecting this little gesture from me.

Yes?

When I helped you out, that night.

I see her flinch as her mind starts to remember.

There was something that I saw by accident while inspecting your injuries.

Her stare turns puzzled.

Alright.

The black feather above your ribs, it’s very... intriguing. Would you be willing to tell me more about it?

It wasn’t often that my tones were a question, instead of an order, so the after taste of it was most peculiar to me. Tickling something under my skin and not irritating it as a usual effect that it produced. And surprisingly, her expression is calm, even if faint rosy tones still color her cheeks.

It’s something that I needed to do. Just for myself. To make me stronger, separating me from the past.

Why?

So it would no longer influence me and my decisions.

I take in her tones and the power that comes from her. Such a new side to her. As if seeing deeper under her layers. Not just the bubbly and a bit of a childish rebellious exterior. I feel as if I’m tapping into something crucial. My voice turns lower as I ask.

Why a raven feather, because of your name?

Her eyebrows lift high in surprise.

How do you know it belongs to that bird? No one ever recognizes it.

Answer my question first.

The voice turns stern, and I can feel her pulse speed, my energy becoming less tamed.

I... no. Not because of that.

My eyes follow her fingers as she plays nervously with her apron.

I saw a drawing in an old book filled with illustrations of birds. It was some older guy’s garage sale, and the book was stuffed into a box that smelled of mold and tons of dust. I wouldn’t normally touch it, but I just...

She shakes her head helplessly.

Felt drawn to it?

Yes, exactly! But I have no idea why.

Call it fate and enjoy it. Or a curse it if you prefer.

I don’t regret it, it’s a part of me now, and it will always stay that way.

She answers defensively, suddenly looking straight into me with an unknown strength. The blue dept in her eyes becoming more intense, as she doesn’t seem to catch the hint that the bitter note in my voice, was only meant for me.

I never thought you did, love.

There is a moment of heavy silence, as I finally break it, by lifting my eyebrow, smiling at her slowly. That relaxes her as she realizes that she misunderstood me.

Sorry, I am so out of it lately.

I think I can relate. More than you know.

One more smile, and then she hesitantly leaves, even though I feel how much she doesn’t want to part from me. I watch her disappear, then quickly get up, not having any more energy for pleasant chitchat. For now, I found out what I came here for, some of the things checked off my list. I knew now that Wren’s remedy worked with contact with her, and that no one influenced the tattoo that decorated her skin so well. She had a sign, and she took it, following the mysterious guidance that would let me to her.

Often the universe speaks in the strangest ways, and all you have to do sometimes is listen as it whispers.

_____

Chapters :

1. https://theprose.com/post/377363/worlds-colliding-part-1-extended

2. https://theprose.com/post/215912/signs

3. https://theprose.com/post/219168/the-stripes-on-a-tiger

4. https://theprose.com/post/223324/disturbance-in-the-matter

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5. https://theprose.com/post/237003/leaving-marks-part-1-2

6. https://theprose.com/post/237515/leaving-marks-2

7. https://theprose.com/post/266243/cause-and-effect-part-1-2

8. https://theprose.com/post/266557/cause-and-effect-part-2

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9. https://theprose.com/post/324197/rooted-grounds-and-foundations

10. https://theprose.com/post/327453/by-the-strands-that-bind-us

11. https://theprose.com/post/358325/reaching-infinity-in-the-dark

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