[P] light a match, watch it burn

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 


I have yet to establish an address, I’m sure it will get lost along the way.
 
Ah, there is a gleam in his eyes, yet he says nothing still. Raum watches her as a lion might an antelope foal he has no hunger for – yet. He watches her as a god might a mere mortal – as if he stands as a bridge between life and death. The friend of Charon here to bring bodies to keep his boats full and his coffers overflowing. Raum is no god, yet the gods no longer strike fear into his heart. He is the man who smiled at Caligo and offered her his knives as they whispered of vengeance in the writhing shadows of her temple.
 
Then she goes on and oh how his skull tilts as if he were a crow atop a tree leaning forward and down to better hear what the earthlings say. Yet his lips do not part with a caw, they do not pluck at lambs eyes nor steal red berries from flourishing bushes. No, Raum has long passed a simple Crow of murder and petty theft. He is no longer content with the meat of lamb’s eyes. His appetite is greater and all of Solterra knows it.
 
He has seen Solterra’s ribs, he hears the dryness of her voice, parched and full of sand. Solterra is dying and he watches her rattling breaths rising from her ribbed chest.
 
Now his beak parts, but it is no caw that abrades the soft flesh of Targwyn’s ear. Rather it is the silk of moonlight pooling in the shadows. It is mercury slipping like blood through her veins, poisoning all that it touches. “You have no home, Targwyn. You are free to roam, but if you want to come back here, ever, you will answer the letter.” And he does not say how it will find her, but it will. A crow knows every hiding place, it knows in intimate detail each and every corner of Novus. The letter will reach Targwyn, and she will answer it.
 
Then he is turning, leaving the mad mare and her bone white face, the painted crimson smile that still lays itself upon his skin.
 
“Good luck.” He says softly, because he is gone, swallowed by the night as Day turns its back upon its king.

---

@Targwyn <3 Fin! Thank you my lovely - ee i am excited to see what happens with the Denocte stores!