The Chorus Of A Raven | ONC2025

An avalanche of ebony feathers surrounded Rosalie in a swirling chaotic dome, gradually extending higher and higher into a towering tornado. At the head, circling above, were a flock of ravens, their hauntingly musical calls emanating from the back of their throats shattered against the plumes.

All she could do was stare at the circling mass and try not to draw attention to the strange feeling their calls were summoning in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't fear, as much, rather a calmness she had no memory of ever experiencing in her eighteen years. As though everything she had ever known ceased to exist and had evaporated in their hypnotic melody.

'Rosalie.'

A luring feminine voice beckoned her, pulling her out of her trance.

'Rosalie. Come home.'

Those three words echoed around the tornado, merging with the storm and smothering her in an ambience of confusion. Familiarity settled over her pounding heart.

Frequent dreams of that very voice had been ceaseless throughout her childhood. The precise reason why the children of the orphanage where Rosalie had spent much of her youth would abstain from interacting with her. Being invisible wasn't exactly foreign to Rosalie.

In her dreams, she had never graced the phantom with a reply. Too young and afraid to understand what it wanted. But, perhaps it was time to find out.

"Who are you?" Rosalie called, her tone rising to be heard over the ravens' repeated shrill noise vibrating in her eardrums.

'Come home.'

"I don't understand... Where is home?"

Suddenly, time had frozen.

Everything went mute and still. Until the skull-cracking sound filling the void tore itself from Rosalie as though a hand had reached down her throat, ripping the scream out of her with force.

A searing heat raged across her chest, scorching flesh and as Rosalie's terrified gaze followed the root of the pain, she looked aghast to see the obsidian stone glowing in a brilliant lavender beam of light. The rays illuminated the silent plumage merely hovering all around her and to Rosalie's amazement, charmed the flock.

With their wings outstretched they soared downwards and she crouched as low as she could, praying her cries would drown out the severity of their aggressive flight.

Bolting upright, Rosalie strived to even out her breathing; harsh exhales rushed out from her lungs.

Her head fell weakingly into her hands and she ran her shaky fingers into her tatty caramel strands of hair, eventually locating the object of her dream dangling down her front.

Rosalie inspected it with new eyes. Although it appeared as normal as it had always been, she knew it was nothing of the sort.

The dreams may have haunted her for as long as she could remember, except now they were growing in strength. Manifesting into a sense of reality.

*

Once Rosalie's anxiety had receded, she finally had the chance to take in her surroundings. To take in the atmosphere in which she had slept in and for the first time in a long time, Rosalie had felt safe.

The room was by no means large; possibly located in the servants quarters of the Prince's mansion. Sand-coloured curtains draped neatly across the window and a petite dressing table stood upon the far wall, a round oak framed mirror sat atop the surface.

Rosalie shifted her weight and the bed beneath her creaked, just as a timid knock tapped on the other side of the bedroom door and a young girl - not too much younger than herself - came barrelling inside without an answer from Rosalie.

"Good afternoon, miss," the girl greeted cheerfully, "my mama instructed me to bring you some decent clothes and pardon me for being so blunt, but I can see why," she said hurriedly, appraising Rosalie with a look of slight derision, which she brushed away with practised control. Yet, the girl mostly cast a look of sympathy, softening the earlier oblivious ridicule.

"I am grateful. Thank you."

Accepting the clean garments, Rosalie clung to them as if they were a lifeline. Perhaps they were in some small way.

"You are very welcome. Could I perhaps get you some food? Mama mentioned something about soup, I'm sure... or was it steak?" Rosalie watched in minor amusement at the girl's internal struggle over her preference of nourishment.

"Well, I am quite hungry," Rosalie confessed, even though the remnants of her dream still lurked.

The young girl's emerald eyes lit up, a thought occurring. "Oh, I will bring you both. It will be as though you are having a small, albeit extremely tasty, feast. Stanley is a very accomplished cook, although not as good as Jared... still, I am confident you will scoff it all," she rambled on, barely taking a breath. "Bread as well... for the soup. I shall return in a short while."

Again, not waiting for a reply, the girl skipped out of the room as quickly as she entered.

The door flew open once more, the girl returning. "My apologies, I seem to have forgotten to tell you my name. I'm Liliana."

"Rosalie."

"A pleasure to meet you, Rosalie."

Disappearing for a second time, Liliana did not reappear for a third, much to Rosalie's relief as she longed to discard her moth-eaten rags and feel the clean cotton she held in her protective grip swathe over her soon to be cleansed skin.

Turning the tap on the rustic tin bathtub, Rosalie held her hand briefly under the cascading hot water, revelling in the caress of warmth.

As the last drop of water hit, another knock at the door came.

"Come in," Rosalie said after a beat, expecting Liliana. Instead, Mrs Baxter strolled inside.

"Liliana informed me you had awoken. Can I help you get cleaned up?"

It was an offer she appreciated as Rosalie had never bathed herself before.

"Please, Mrs Baxter."

"Address me as Katrina, whilst we are not in the company of others. My formal name is for the Prince and my fellow servants, and if I am to be truthful, I do so loathe it."

Rosalie smiled and nodded, agreeing to her request.

"Once we have you looking pristine, Prince Darick requires your presence in his study," Mrs Baxter added.