Six of crows imagines

What's left in his will

For once, the sun was out in Ketterdam, bathing the dull city in refreshing, orange beams of sunlight. Kaz sat in his office, eyes glued to the papers laid out in front of him, creating a map of the mansion that had once belonged to your father. His makeshift desk would soon cave in under all the piles of paper stacked on top of each other. All of them shoved to the side to create space for the big map. You were sat on the windowsill across his desk. Your eyes were closed and a few strands of your y/h/c hair had fallen loose and framed your face delicately.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back?” Kaz’s voice cut through the silence, although he didn’t look up from his maps. You faintly shook your head in response, enjoying the warming sun.

“No,” you stated,”I’ve had enough of that place.” Kaz looked up at you at that and raised his eye brows.

“Do you have any idea how much kruge your father’s, yours, mansion would get you? Or how much safer you would be in those parts of the city, than you are here at the slat?” Kaz questioned your statement, looking at you as if you had completely lost your mind.

“Yes I do. And I don’t want it,” you slid down from the window sill and placed yourself in the chair opposite Kaz instead. The sun shined in through the window, hiring your profile and making your features stand out. Your y/e/c eyes lit up like stars and Kaz for once found himself speechless for a second. But if you noticed it was hard to tell, because the next second Kaz spoke up again.

“Do you even care what happens to this house?” He deadpanned, sighted and fell back into his chair and letting his back hit the back of the chair with a thud. You crossed your arms and threw a quick glance out of the window, letting the sun cover you in an orange filter, coloring your skin, eyes hair, and clothes. Then your looked back at Kaz who still had his eyes trained on you.

“No, I don’t. Do whatever you’d like with it. Move in. Sell it. Turn it into a brothel. Whatever. It’s yours,” your voice was soft but definite, and this time it wasn’t hard to see the slight feature of chock that passed over his face. Then he gave you and almost invisible smile, and a short nod.

“Okay then.”

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Your father had passed recently, leaving you the mansion you grew up in and all the fortunes that came with it. You had hated every second in that house. Your parents didn’t care about you. They’d given you food, clothes and roof over your head so they had someone they could leave the house to in the future. And now your father had passed away roughly a week before and the government had told you that he left his riches to you. But you didn’t want it. Not all of it at least. You could accept some of the money and give it out to the crows, but the mansion and the rest of the kruge you didn’t want. The only thing you liked about that house were the impressive, white roses you’re mum had had planted.

“Are you really sure you don’t want or need the house or the rest of the kruge?” Kaz asked again, looking up at you, making sure you meant what you’d said.

“Yes, take it. Do what you want with it,” you smiled slightly and gave him a nod to go ahead. Kaz lips quirked upwards for a second before giving you a firm nod.

Kaz didn’t tell you exactly what he did with the money. He told you that he’d sold the mansion to one of the merchants that were your old neighbors. But what he did with the money he got from that was still an unsolved mystery to you.

Until one day, when you walked into your room at the slat. It was almost 9 o’clock at the evening and the dark had started to seep through the windows and bathed your room in a dull darkness. But what caught your eyes was the package on your bed. The simple, light brown wrapped was teared at some places and the on top of it was your name written in neath handwriting. You didn’t recognize it and certainly didn’t know where, or from who, it came from. Carefully you peeled away the paper around the present and when you turned over the frame you now held in your hands you smiled. Inside the frame behind the stain free glass was dried, pressed flower. It was a white rose. Your mother had had white roses planted in front of your house and now they had climbed up against the walls and covering the facade with the elegant, white flowers.

When you turned the picture over you was that someone had scribbled a note on the back of it.

“Now you have a memory of the only thing you thought was beautiful about that house. I do hope you enjoy it.

/K.B”