A Collection of Misconception

The Twelve Ravens of Time

Once long ago there were twelve ravens. These ravens went by the name Time.

But, dear reader, they do not look like the ravens of today. Change the image of an ugly black animal to that of a brilliantly colored, majestic, bird with plumage of every color on the human spectrum, and then some.

They preened their feathers to the world every hour. The first one flying at one, and the last one at midnight. This last one was an exception, instead of bringing beauty and happiness to the world, he brought brought sorrow and death.

For this, the rest of Time hated him. They couldn't stand the black blemish they considered to be the twelfth raven. For he did indeed look like the bedraggled birds we know today.

He felt great shame, but dutifully flew over the under-developed land called earth at the strike of midnight, cringing as flowers wilted in his wake.

After enduring many moons, the beautiful Ravens of Time decided that their twelfth had crowed his last caw. By the time midnight struck, the black raven had been blocked in a cave.

The night passed without event. In fact, the people of early civilization rejoiced when the black Raven of death didn't fly. But it wasn't fated to last.

When one came, and the first raven flew, he was met with a surprise. His brilliantly colored plumage turned to black and fell, transforming into different bird species as they fell.

The bald bird, too ashamed to fly back to Time, hid in the trees below.

The next bird that flew suffered a similar fate, and so did the next, and so on and so forth. Until eleven once pretty birds sat bare in front of the stone that blocked the twelfth's cave.

It was time for him to fly and the other ravens clung to the hope that they could give them their feathers back.

When the twelfth hopped out, he couldn't help but spit in their faces before he flew off.

Much to Time's dismay, his flight only served to grow them black plumage, and make them as ugly as him.

It seemed that the creator has decided that they couldn't carry out their job, so instead of them spreading happiness every hour, an army of birds, born of their feathers, made the world bloom during the day. And at midnight, twelve birds of sorrow flew over the land, suffering in eternal punishment.