rating: +9+x


In which The Lady has a chat with an old friend.

What a silly little story.

A gently crackling fire spat its flames closer to the leathery chair that sat a figure, ensnared by the fireplace it burned within. It managed to pull a chuckle from the aforementioned figure.

“Don’t be so rude, it isn’t that far off the mark.”

A clawed and feathered hand appeared from the side of the chair, placing what appeared to be a sheet of paper on the table beside it. The page was weathered, and protected by a shining layer of wax. The edges seemed to be slightly burnt.

Sparks flew from the fire, landing close to the scripture. If you looked close enough, it almost looked like the fire did that on purpose. The same feathery hand pulled the story further from the flames to protect it.

The old wooden floorboards beneath the chair began to creak while the woman who sat upon it moved to stand, and it was apparent now that the figure was nothing more than that; a silhouette of something that was nothing.

The light of the fire shrunk back, unable to light up a single feature on the woman. Her features were hard to discern considering how they blended together, meshing into a tall presence.

The clawed hand reached for a bucket, but by the time it made contact with the metal of the pail it seemed more human-like, small and rounded fingers pulling that bucket into her grasp.

“That ending was a lot better for you, wasn’t it?”

With a swift move, she splashed the water upon the fire, extinguishing it in a hiss. If you listened real close, a small scream sizzled away behind it.

The room stayed lit by only a lamp from the coffee table, lighting the path for the shadowy woman. She had places to be now! An adventurer did not stay home for very long.

With a swift walk to the door, it appeared her arms became significantly more wing-like. When her bag draped over her shoulder a beak seemed to get in the way, and as she stepped outside into the cold night, all that was left was a small raven.

Quickly, it took off in haste, leaving its home behind. The Lady refused to ever be late to her matters.

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