In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

Crows and rats ~ Chapter 16

Germany, 1818.

The summer day was unbearably bright, its heat a constant, intrusive presence as Ada escaped the stifling walls of the manor. She no longer cared for the polished formality of her home or the endless corridors. Instead, she sought refuge under the open sky. Clad in black simple, flowing dress, Ada sat on a weathered stone bench at the edge of the manor's gardens.

For Ada, the manor had become a prison of endless routine and suffocating opulence. Now, she spent her days in a dissociated state, nearly thoughtless, watching the crows as they gathered on the low stone wall and darted across the bright summer sky. Their black forms, sharp against the blue, were the only companions that brought her even a fleeting sense of comfort. There was something in their quiet, almost indifferent presence that mirrored her own disillusionment—a wild freedom that she had long since lost inside those ornate, cold halls.

She rarely spoke, and when she did, it was almost always reserved for the crows. In their silent company, Ada found words that bypassed the empty social niceties and the heavy mask of propriety that had ruled her life for so long. "Good morning," she murmured to a particularly bold crow that landed nearby, her voice barely above a whisper. The bird cocked its head as if in response, its dark eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before it took flight again.

Time passed in a dreamlike haze. The gentle rustle of leaves, the occasional caw of a crow, and the rhythmic beating of her own pulse were all that filled those long, languid hours. Ada's thoughts were scattered—a series of fragmented memories and disjointed emotions that she neither cared to piece together nor feared to let dissolve into the summer heat. Here, far from the suffocating decorum of the manor, she was not expected to be anything other than herself, however lost or detached that might be.

In that half-sleep, half-wake state, the crows became her confidants, their occasional landing by her side as transient, silent listeners to her unspoken sorrows. She barely noticed the world beyond their sable silhouettes. The manor, the burdens of expectation, even her own identity—all of it had dissolved into the background of an endless, hot summer day. And for Ada, that was a small mercy, a momentary reprieve from a life that had grown too heavy to bear indoors.

The summer day had long since dissolved into a brooding twilight as Ada remained seated on that ancient stone bench. The air was heavy and stagnant—a suffocating veil that mirrored the depth of her inner desolation. Around her, the crows drifted like dark omens against a dimming sky, their ebony wings slicing through the silence.

In this forsaken solitude, Ada's mind had unraveled, a tangle of grief and numb resignation. The manor and its stifling corridors were distant memories now—phantoms best left behind. Here, amid the murmuring of dying light and the distant caw of those somber birds, she felt an eerie kinship. Their presence was both a curse and a balm; their silent communion a counterpoint to the hollow chatter of courtly life.

She spoke softly, her voice carried off by the languid wind: "Stay, my kindred souls, speak to me..." The words fell from her lips like bitter incense, mingling with the dusk. One crow, its plumage as black as midnight secrets, descended from above and alighted on the worn arm of the bench. Ada's eyes, glazed with despair, met its unwavering gaze, and for a long moment, the silent bird seemed to hold all the sorrow and beauty of a forgotten world.

In that hushed encounter, the boundaries of self dissolved. Ada's thoughts became a disjointed hymn to darkness—a medley of memories and unutterable longing, of love lost and honor turned to ash. The light that once had promised salvation now mocked her with its fading brilliance, leaving only the cold caress of the shadows. The crows circled overhead, their wings beating a slow requiem against the sullen sky, each flutter a reminder of the inevitability of decay and despair.