When We Meet Again (Novella/Short Story)

The All-Seeing Crow- Chapter I

The girl leaned against the gap-toothed fence in awe, surveying what she came to realize was now her land.

It was almost unbelievable for her to believe that yesterday, she had a tiny, matchbox-apartment with barely enough space for her, let alone her cat; Now, she was sure that she could host a party as grand as the ones they had thrown at the heyday of this place. Not that she would want to.

It was still fun to think about, though. Dressing in the most beautiful finery, her dress cascading down like silken waterfalls. She imagined twirling and almost tripped on a rock in the process, leaning onto the fence for balance and causing it to tumble down. She let out a cry of alarm.

"Oh God!" She exclaimed as she rubbed her bruised hip, skirts now stained green with grass. Before she knew it, she was letting out a hearty laugh. Better to get in the spirit of this place before she had any real work to do.

The girl, Aida, paraded down the main walkway lined with overgrown roses, the sweet fragrances drifting through the air like a warm breeze.

The actual manor was roughly two hundred years old, the seller had said, and because of that the house... Wasn't in great shape, to say the least. Aida had to push on the door with all her might for the hinges to creak open and a great cloud of dust to fill up her nose. She swiped at the air.

"Now... which way's which?" She asked herself, boots clomping on the dusty marble flooring of the main entryway. On the right side of her and the door was a spiral staircase that went up to the next floor. In the middle was a dark oak table that held a withered array of roses- how old, she couldn't tell, but they smelled like rotting death.

Past the table was a hallway that led into the kitchen, she finally remembered, from all the times that her mother had shown her the place on her old computer. Past that was the pantry that the chefs got their products from, and then past that was the back garden.

Aida threw off her boots and slipped and slid until a dark film coated the soles of her feet.

In the back were the servants' houses, and one in particular ran through her memory like a video on loop. It was of the house at the very end, covered in trailing ivy. Inside was peeling wallpaper and a window letting in the view of the mountains, and in the very distance, the town.

It was strange. Whenever she thought about that little house, she felt a strong pang in her gut. Like something was pulling her there.

She had never quite believed in magic.

Because of that fact, Aida didn't tell her sister. Instead, when she took her tour the first time she had let out a deep breath and just enjoyed the view, silently promising to herself that this would be her studio.

Maybe, just maybe, the peaceful beauty of this place could draw back hope, inspiration. Aida wanted to believe that.

"I love you," she whispered under her breath as the golden sun sank beneath the gray clouds. "You know that, don't you?"

She let her hands trail her lips, until she sank into her seat and let out a deep breath. Those words felt so foreign on her tongue, but almost right at the same time.

Maybe she really was going crazy. After all, why would she not be able to draw? She had drawn her whole life, extravagant pictures that people always praised her about. Yet she always felt so empty about them. Like she never put any true emotion in them.

Maybe that was what art was. A husk, something for the audience to interpret.

"No." She said, "You're not going crazy, you just can't draw." The girl reminded herself.