The Ravens' Rising

Prologue: Twisted Miraculousness

The oak door, which marked the entrance to the overshadowed house on the border of Ravencoast, slammed with a resounding bang. Beside the now-shut door, the well-built, rather pale body of Tim Anderson stood, hanging his coat on the rack, drenched with rain. Tim had just gotten back from his shift at the local store, Super-mart, and displayed his exhaustion by dragging a hand across his face. 

The raucous storm outside seemed to intensify, creating brilliant flashes of lightning across the sky and the earth seem to tremble as the thunder rumbled. Flopping ungracefully onto his couch, Tim grabbed a hold of his remote, flicking though the channels to select the local news station channel. Becoming relaxed, Tim opened up the can of beer beside him and took a few gulps. He watched with uninterested eyes at the weather report, he knew damn well the weather was going to persist like it was for a while, and he didn't need some photogenic, preen weather lady to tell him that. Grunting as the weather report ended, his stance changed just slightly as the news switched to local events. He saw pictures of empty coffin, seeming as if they were ripped apart by something savage and incredibly stalwart, and then both the familiar and unknown faces of the deceased who had occupied them formerly. 

His already fair complexion seemed to blanch even whiter when he noted the close proximity of the twisted miraculousness. Maintaining a calm composure, Tim inhaled a deep breath before exhaling, loosing the knot of fear in his heart. He walked to his office, which was a mess with papers. Picking them up, and stacking them neatly on his polished desk, Tim closed the window. 

As he was tugging on the curtain string, he noticed a slim silhouette moving near his house. Blinking, he assured himself he was just seeing things. Paranoia is not going to do you any good, he chastised himself as he moved towards his drawers. 

Reaching towards the very back, his hand met with a cool, solid metal. Bringing the gun for inspection, he cocked it and checked the ammunition- there was no harm in being cautious. Closing the door of his office, he emitted a yawn. The many hours of his shift had left him exhausted and he craved sleep. 

Turning off the lights as he entered the dim corridor, Tim rubbed his eyes, the anticipation of rest making him so very lethargic. 

But what he saw before him made his blood run cold. 

He flitted his irises to the framed image of him and a lovely woman, smiling with joy. And then averted his eyes before him, at the very end of the corridor, to the charcoal-coloured hair female, whose body seemed beyond skeletal thin and deathly white. No, this was not the woman he fell in love with and made his wife. This was the woman whose corpse he had wept over, and then grieved over. This was not the woman he once knew, but she seemed so familiar to him. 

"Timothy, darling..." She breathed out, almost a sigh. However her voice sounded wrong, where once was a soft and inviting tone, was replaced by sibilant hiss within a drawl, which left the man gulping. Tim's heartbeat thumped loudly, heard in his ears. His footsteps retreated as the resurrection of his wife moved forward. She plastered a sinister twist of the lips as a smile as she was within arm's reach of Timothy. Frozen in place, the gun slipped from his numb fingers onto the floor with a clatter. The last sound heard from the almost unnoticeable house that night was a blood-curdling scream.

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Have the world's bestest morning/afternoon/evening/brunch.

- Queen Anathema.