I own nothing. I tried my hand at cryptic. Did I do well?
As the golden sun rose to its proper place, sending the shadowy skies fleeing for life;
Just as the sweet droplets of morning dew fell upon the crimson morning glories, opening to face the light of day;
Just as the warmth returned to the fleet footed spring gales as they rushed through the forests of street lamps and telephone poles, the fields of dead grass died the green shade of life and the stone paved streets of Pars;
Just as the plastic curtains of the new day opened wide for all to gaze upon, the white veils of a young boys life, brimming with innocence and morality came to a dramatic and unexpected close.
Young prince Arslan. Heir to the throne.
Amongst the gentle company of foreign flowers and exotic trees he found his peace, finding thier silent whispers far more consoling than that of his subjects.
Even though they stayed far from thier posts as the barer of the blade in his back and the liars at his ears, he felt thier presence in the shadows cast by the day and the very air he breathed in the night.
He took comfort that the flowers and trees genuinely cared not for his pain and hardly pretended to.
But the time for the women to rome man's blood paved streets had ended and rivers of deep gold flooded the princes small garden.
Iluminated, all prying eyes could spot a stubborn child with a body of glass subdued inside a violet robe of peacock feathers and resting again a firmly rooted oak.
Silver locks of hair streamed down his pale brow as he gazed skyward.
Gold was the colour.
Gold lined his memories, gold haunted his slumber. Gold was the catalyst that transformed man to beast. Gold was the shade that killed the niave child, the prince of ignorance.
Yet where was that gold now? The gold of true wealth lay in a shallow grave with the other half of a cherished promise.
No more would gold frighten the shadows far away from Arslans presence.
Now that the king had misplaced his pieces, he thought he was alone but he was unaware that someone watched.
The proper name is unknown for such a simple creature but he knew himself to be little more than an Antonio.
A black bird, a Raven with eyes of black pearls and wings composed of the darkest tar.
He sat roosted upon the tree Arslan found comfort as a stubborn bird choosing rather than the world, the freedom of choice.
Since his early days, his eyes saw little beyond the pattern of wire that made up his prison and choose to remain blind because his longing for the sky was strong, but once upon a twilight when the dreams and the truth merge dangerously, Antonio looked close.
A smiling shadow crawled in through the iron paine of a window and into the room of a prince just to hours short of his thirteenth birthday.
This world is sick and many sorts of poisons are abundant. Some swift and merciful, some are but pathogens for slow suffering.
Yet Arslan seemed aware of this.
That's exactly why he freed Antonio from his imprisonment on that very cold midnight but now that the eastern and northern winds were his to claim, he found himself by his master's side and unable to leave.
The winds weren't evil like the people of this world and looking to this little white child mockingly clad, he found his gaze met by the eyes of yet another imprisoned bird.
"The boy shall be alone, " The bird spoke "Nevermore."
Arslan fell to his side and shook violently. White claimed his eyes, lips and knuckles as he struggled against the impending slumber. He could not cry.
And so the crow said the boy to sleep.
Huis, huis, air an each,
An t-each a' dol a Bhàlaigh.
Beiridh a' muir-làn oirnn,
Beiridh e air chasan oirnn,
Beiridh e air chinn oirnn!
Huis, huis, air an each,
An t-each a' dol a Bhàlaigh.
By the end of his song, he knew he was asleep.
And there the boy found himself in the land of dreams, a place not even the shadows could find.