Beneath broken stone and warped metal, a solitary raven panics as it senses imminent danger. It escapes certain death mere seconds before the structure finally crashes to the ground. On soaring above the devastation, the bird spies a wet-eyed woman...
Music: ANGEL by R Armando Morabito (ft. Julie Elven)
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I stared at my reflection in the window - despondent, lost. I was going to be attending my own funeral, as was my beloved, our son, our friends and going by what I had heard on board the zeppelin an inordinate amount of people who thought, for some reason, I was important. I suppose I had been, to an extent, but my deeds had never been intended to win me notoriety. I was merely doing my job.
One of Sarah's expletives came to mind and I screamed it in my head.
FUCK!
It didn't help in the slightest, other than fueling my anxiety.
I felt my feathers prickling, almost sizzling as if infused with all the elements - tenfold - and my caws evolved into irritating shrieks as agitation built within me.
Losing control, I omitted an almighty screech resulting in the line of clay flowerpots along the edge of the balcony being blasted with a jet of frost and fire.
Instantly I stilled. I watched as Sarah's little array of spring blossoms curled inwards, crisped and dwindled. Sharp cracks filled the air and the pots themselves split, shattered and fell apart, spewing their contents over the balcony floor.
My eyes followed the trail of sifting soil as it spread, tiny bulbs and stems mixed within – destroyed, burnt. The finishing touch was the cornerstone balustrade and spindle falling away into the courtyard below. Could things get any worse? I wondered, deflated.
I flinched as I heard it meet the cobbles with a dull thud.
"Who's up there?" an angry voice shouted.
All my angst deserted me and it was replaced by a soupcon of hope. I recognised that voice!
"We're coming up, so whoever you are you better get out of there unless you're wanting trouble!"
It was Drew Stewart. Never was I so pleased to hear his voice, even if it was issuing a threat. I alighted the railing and waited, staring inside the study window.
It was somewhat strange to be stuck outside looking in while others entered my home. Oddly comforting too that it was people I trusted and not some vagabond thief, which was relatively common in the city.
On a day such as today, more undesirables would no doubt see abundant opportunity in front of them, as the good people of Stormwind said their farewells to a man who was not even dead! I shuddered. My desperate predicament left me confounded.
The door to my study opened and Drew entered the room. To my profound relief, I saw he was carrying Atiesh, my Guardian staff - the stick with the ugly carving on it - retrieved from beneath the crumbling pillars. I watched, grateful, as he leaned the staff against the shelving with all my tomes and scrolls.
