Several Short Storiesss

The Bird

The bird flew in, silent as night, the crown of feathers on its head an inky black that dripped off its brow with thick, red blood. In its beak, it held two things: a slashed piece of parchment splattered in red, and a rusted chain glinting silver in the moonlight.

A figure illuminated by the midnight sun stood in the cobblestone tower, their ripped cloak in pieces on the splintered floorboard. Their hair hung limp on their sweat-beaded forehead as they anxiously reached for the bird, a stifled sob as they did so.

The creature landed cleverly in their bone-thin fingers, dropping the parchment into desperate waiting hands.

"Read it to me," the figure croaked. The bird squawked back in her own tongue, each click amplified by the darkness.

The figure shook with each syllable, and when the bird was finished, they trapped it in a thin hand cage and crushed it. The bird let out one anguished cry before it disappeared into dust, which the wind promptly blew away.

The figure was left with a chain and a memo from a person from which she had not wished to hear.

The prince had been writing in the light of a candle when the bird came back. He always found it strange to see the small thing, thin as sticks with a knobbly little head like an ugly pebble. It's short black beak always seemed to have something gross on it, and on its head were eight thin and crusty feathers pointing out like a palm leaf, or rays from the sun.

Contrary to the sun, the bird screamed darkness and morbid pain with its appearance, so the prince thought an appropriate name for it was Macabre. The prince was not creative.

He did not know where the bird went every night, but it seemed to him that it made one stop between its journey from him, to its destination. Two nights ago, it had appeared with strips of night-black cloth, finer than he had ever seen, twisted with strands of shimmering silver hair, shining like spiderwebs in the afternoon. This was very different from the night before when the bird had brought the prince still-red bones of some beast much larger than it and much larger than the boy himself. This left him wary and endlessly anxious, but still, he stroked its cold beak with some odd sort of affection.

He continued writing. It was a letter to the receivers of the bird, a letter to whoever it had killed, and a letter to whoever had weaved such fine cloth. It felt mysterious writing to them, but he was disappointed that no one seemed to write back. He sent a note the night before, a tiny, simplistic one saying "Can you read this?" Maybe he should have also said, "Write back if you can." but no one could possibly be so stupid as to not write back if they could.

Now he was going to be clear and concise. He had a large sheet in front of him, and enough ink to paint the castle black. He wanted to know if the bird belonged to someone, if they needed aid, or if they wanted to give him an adventure. He wanted to know where he could meet the weaver or if he could see the beast that was slain.

The bird looked to him like a monster from a nightmare, its onyx grey eyes stealing glimpses into the prince's soul. Seeing as the prince paid no mind to its quiet observation, it gently plucked a strand of his molasses brown hair from his scalp and fluttered out the window.

Now the Tertiary had seen it all. Her son, slain by a mere pebble, a pebble that returned tonight under the midnight sky, it's wings unfurling to reveal a monster worse than the one she had been.

Her grey fur quivered as the bird landed in front of her, smaller than the autumn leaf that crunched under its claws. Its red-stained claws.

Moonbeams filtered through the high evergreens as the bird picked its way towards the Tertiary. The bones had already been buried. There was nothing left for her to do. She bowed towards it, and her children and pack followed her example.

When she, at last, lifted her head, the bird plucked at the dark black chain around the Tertiary's neck. The beast shook her great head, feeling her pack tremble behind her. They were shaken after the defeat of her son, but the Tertiary could not do it. She could not relinquish the Alpha's memory that hung proudly on her neck.

Pure obsidian made this chain, and it was clasped around her with hardened sprigs of juniper, heated by fires and free-flowing magma.

The bird pecked harder, all the more, the entire time keeping it's beak shut.

It already has something, the Tertiary growled, tears pricking her eyes. "You have already stolen from me," she finally said, in her grave, ancient tongue. The Tertiary was a beast older than time itself. She was alive for the first sunrise, and she was made to be alive until the last sunset. However, at the death of her son, she had seen the ending that most animals fear so deeply. Before she would say there is a life beyond death, but now she knew. There was no life beyond death, and there was no death without life.

In moments like these, the Tertiary wondered if she had ever lived.

In one swift motion, she was blinded. The great monster of the forest fell to the ground, releasing a roar of agony. The other animals, with their furred hides of silver, black, and red trembled at the bird slit the Tertiary's neck and severed the mother's head from the body.

Then gently, it lifted the obsidian chain from the pool of blood at its claws. It looked at the remaining monsters, convincing them of its return. Then, it flew off into the night.

The figure teetered back and for on a stool, creating a tapestry of her home with the soft, cold fingers of her hand. The story was colorless, black and grey, shiny bits of silver streaking through. Her hands were plumper after she had eaten the chain, and the woman for once looked healthy. When her bird flew in, she felt much better, much kinder than she had before.

She beckoned for the tweeter with a hand, stopping her weaving altogether. The creature perched, long black chain in her mouth. Shocked, the figure dropped her bird to the ground.

"What have you done!" She hissed. Violently, the figure threw a dagger at the animal, barely missing. It sputtered, it's sinowy wings transforming into sinowy arms, it's raven black feathers transforming into raven black hair. A girl with grey eyes looked at her mother, who spit and cursed her name.

"You killed her? You killed the Mother of the Forest?" the woman spat again.

"I didn't know what else to do!" The dried red that rimmed the girl's lips and fingertips made the woman all the more angry.

"Where is his hair, then? Tell me, lass, what did you see?" She clutched her daughter's face, crunching her cheekbones with bitter force.

Peering into her identical grey eyes, she saw nothing but the back of his head and a table. The woman threw her daughter to the floor. The girl gasped.

"That's nothing!"

The girl began to cry. "You didn't even tell me what you wanted to see!"

The woman slapped her. "How was I supposed to know you were so utterly stupid!"

The girl got up, running for the stairs in the floorboards of the creaky tower. Her fingers and face brushed cobwebs and dust and dead things. Her mother roared behind her, and she ran for the hole in the wall, the square cut out that promised freedom.

Her body struck against the invisible wall that barred her from the outside world. She pounded against it, writhed for freedom before her mother grasped her and covered her mouth, silencing her sobbing.

"You fool," the woman hissed, clawing into her daughter's back with wicked nails. "You cannot leave unless you are a bird, and you shan't be a bird for a long, long time." The witch dragged the girl up the stairs again and began using the things she brought for another spell.

The prince hadn't seen the bird for a long time after, so when it returned the next week, he was shocked at how much worse off it appeared to be. Its feathers had no sheen, and it had no present for him. It lay on his worn wooden table, eyes closed, refusing to watch him write.

"Are you alright?" he whispered. The bird made no response, and unbeknownst to the prince, the bird died exactly there on the table once he had spoken. His concern was more than she could bear.

**a/n: okay, so I published this late... but it's still Tuesday, so there! Please please please, once again, stay safe during this corona crisis (that's alliteration made to cheer you up but in hindsight it's kinda sad) and listen to guidelines and the news. And make sure to vote (I think :D) and comment!!