Rhiannon

- James -

Salem, Massachusetts, 1817

"Mr. Delaney! Welcome! Welcome to our beautiful beautiful city!" old man happily smiled at James, who walked slowly through the Salem's harbor.

We will see if it is beautiful.

"And you are?" James looked at the man coldly. Tired yet piercing look in his eyes made man hesitate about the next move toward James. He swallowed heavily and nervously coughed to clear his throat.

"William Bentley," finally able the speak, he introduced himself.

James nodded and looked around.

"Please, your horse is ready, let me show you your house, sir," William said and James followed him without a word.

They travelled across whole city. Was it beautiful? Well, it was city, James thought and dropped his eyes.

America, bloody America. I don't know, what is worst if England or this land.

After a whole year of parley, he sold Nootka to Spain. Just a small piece of land, tiny piece of Earth, but they made him si rich, he could buy half of America now.

Yes, I could buy this city, even you William, you and that nervous smile and faked laugh. Why are you laughing? Just to be polite? To get into my grace? Please, little man, just show me my house and-

James stopped his horse and looked up. An unkindness of ravens. Peculiarly silent. Sitting on the trees, watching him closely.
His lips curved into a wicked smirk, he pulled out his gun, pointed and fired.
His horse started to panick a little, so he calm him down with few words.

Ravens spread their wings and like one they flew to the sky.

He pointed his gun once again and fired. This time he created chaos amongst them, they cawed, screamed and after few seconds flew away.

"What happened?" William asked him, when he calmed down his horse and turned to James. "You don't like ravens, Mr.Delaney?"

"Oh no, on the contrary. I love them, I love ravens," James said and continued in his way.

I love ravens, William. You have no idea. And there is one particular raven in my head, dear William. Darkest than the horse you are riding now, darkest than the night during new moon. A little twisted, a little wicked she is, but that is what makes her beautiful, that is what makes her mine. Her crooked smile, her pale skin, her vacant grey eyes. Eyes that flame, when she is angry, sparkle when she is happy, turn darker, when she is turned on. They are just hiding all the life inside her, defence mechanism she calls it. Protecting her soul, that's what she does.

They stopped in front of a big house behind a center of the city.

Old renovated house, house with a history. He could only wonder, who lived here in the past. Mighty tree in the garden. Is it possible, that a witch was hanged on that long thick branch? Is it a house, that belonged to some poor human being, some woman or man, who was too beautiful, too rich, that some jealous bastard pointed her or his finger and said: "Hang the witch?" or were they just burnt? Turned into an ashes.

...till thou return unto the ground;
for out of it wast thou taken:
for dust thou art,
and unto dust shalt thou return...

How cruel is this world, where you can be killed, because somebody made a wish. Have you ever wondered, my dark Rhiannon what kind of murder is the most merciful?

When you were choosing the way how to kill your former husband, how did you choose? Ravens were feasting on his eyes and brain and you watched it. You impressed me , how creative you are. My small murders are nothing next to yours.