The Chorus Of A Raven | ONC2025

EPILOGUE: TWENTIETH DAY

"Because it's not the ancestor she's interested in, but the item he had in his possession." Jared's mind began whirring. Liliana could imagine hearing it ticking over. "I know where she's gone."

*

Thirteen days earlier.

Who you are, you will forget, until the day the ravens' call.

Her mama's words pulsated against the walls of her skull as the ray of light receded, bringing Rosalie back to the present day.

Coming back to her childhood home, Rosalie yearned to get her memory back. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, she wanted to remember how it was taken away from her, but it wasn't as she had visualised. There was no fire at the orphanage; it was Grangston Green. She had unwittingly convinced herself of an alternative narrative.

But once she opened the door to one memory, others seized their opportunity and stormed their way through her mind.

Rosalie remembered everything.

Returning her attention again to the family portraits hanging on the wall over the staircase, her gaze settled on the one she now knew were of her great grandpa and grandma. But it was the golden pocket watch he held in his hand that Rosalie was interested in.

Her grandpa had shortly passed after her grandma and his remains were cremated along with the watch. To retrieve it, Rosalie was going to have to venture to a land no living entity had ever gone to: purgatory.

Removing the photo from its frame, Rosalie stuffed it into the pocket of her ragged dress and prepared to rejoin Jared and Liliana to inform them of her plan.

What if it didn't work? What if she gave Liliana hope only for it to be dashed?

The crackle of branches and the swishing of leaves sweeping through the glassless window frame snapped Rosalie out of travelling down the road of pessimism.

The tree held out its twiggy hand and Rosalie clambered atop the bush of lustrous green leaves. She was passed from branch to branch along the extensive band of evergreen, until she was submerged to the ground and surrounded by the very place where the King's men came face to face with their fate.

The lavender meadow.

Back then, Rosalie had not paid much attention to the grand tree sitting in the centre of the land with its hooked branches turned in all different directions like flexible limbs in an athletic performance.

She remembered the stories her mama told her about purgatory being a place the lost witches of Grangston would wait until the day they were resurrected, but it was the first time in her life she stood before it. The first time she had ever laid her eyes upon the arch-shaped doorway embedded in the trunk, sheathed in a pile of stemmed thorns overlapping each other which concealed the entrance to purgatory under its prickly barricade.

Although, it wasn't the nip of the thorns that compelled Rosalie to straighten her spine. It was the pressure of something sharp against her back.

"Open it."

Madame Francine Quentin.

"Hello Francine. Why am I not surprised to find you here?" Rosalie said, still looking ahead, not daring to turn around.

"I knew this day would come." Rosalie could hear the smile in her voice. "The day when you would remember who you are."

"And it appears you may have forgotten who you are... Francine Thomas. We are Grangston witches. We stand for peace, not violence."

Francine snorted, offended. "Look where that got us. Most of the witches are dead and those that survived the incursion now reside in cities where they are overshadowed by vampires. No... the people of Crausley should fear us and Prince Darick should pay for what his father did to our people. To my mother... to your mother. So I will say it again... open it."

Rosalie swallowed as the tip of what she suspected to be a knife was pushed a smidgen further into her back, though not enough to cause any pain.

"Releasing the dead is not the answer, Francine..."

"Quiet!" Francine yelled, quickly interrupting Rosalie's attempt to placate her. "No more talking, just open the portal."

She had no other option but to do as Francine demanded. If she did not, Rosalie had no doubt she would use her weapon and leave Rosalie to rot amongst the lavender, or worse, become a juicy spread for the ravens to get their beaks into.

Nervously, Rosalie placed the tip of her finger against a thorn and pushed until the needle drew blood. With one single drop of Thornton blood, the thorny stems unravelled, snaking their way around the trunk.

Rosalie had come here with one goal, and that did not involve opening the gates to purgatory for the spirits of Grangston Green to decimate the townsfolk.

To get what she needed, Rosalie was going to have to cross to the other side and if that meant taking Francine with her then it was a price she would pay to ensure the residents of Crausley Sands remained safe.