The First Step
Lady Raven Darkholme had been keeping her blue, demonic child a secret from her husband, Lord Darkholme, and from the small towne of Stufen for almost a week now. Raven knew that no one would believe that the deformed baby she had borne was the son of Lord Darkholme.
She had been discovered, and now she was fleeing into the forest, her child wrapped in a blanket and clutched tightly to her chest. Sweat dripped from her brow and made her dress cling to her body as she raced on, the angry shouts of the villagers pushing her onward.
At last, she had reached the end of the road. A deep rapids caused by the river flowed over the path, turning into a waterfall as they gushed over the cliff to her right.
Raven chanced a look over her shoulder, she could hear the loud, angry shouts of the mob and the snarls and yowls of the dogs as they strained against their leads. They would be upon her in a matter of minutes.
She carefully pulled the blanket away from her son's face and stared into his glowing yellow eyes, her own filled with tears.
"I'll always love you," she whispered as she planted a kiss on his fuzzy brow. She let the tears flow, not caring, as she held the baby over the falls and made ready to throw him in.
"Wait!" a voice hissed from the bushes behind her.
Raven spun around, her violent red hair whipping in her face as she peered into the darkness. A frail, bent old man hobbled out of the bushes and gestured to the baby in her arms.
"I'll take it!" he whispered, and gently lifted the infant from his mother's grasp. "There, there little one," he chuckled softly as the baby began to cry. He bounced the wailing babe softly and hobbled back into the foliage.
Raven watched them go, saying a prayer under her breath for the safety of her son. Just then, the angry mob appeared on the path and quickly surrounded her, their torches and pitchforks held high. Their leader, Lord Darkholme himself, strode up to Raven and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"What have you done with the demon child!" he demanded, shaking her roughly. "Answer me!"
Raven looked up at him, her tearing eyes dignified and proud. "I threw his into the falls," she told him, jerking away from his grip.
The old miller, the same man who would take wheat and flour daily to the Darkholme castle, leaned over to stare down into the darkness that was the bottom of the waterfall.
"Nothing could survive that," he said, stepping away from the edge. "If she is tellin' the truth and all," he added.
"Fine," Lord Darkholme turned, his cloak swirling behind him as he marched off back towards the trail.
Raven watched him for a moment, then let out a bloodcurdling scream and threw herself at her husband, biting and scratching ferociously, rolling on the ground and wrestling right next to the edge of the falls.
The villagers cried out when they both tumbled over, falling, falling. Suddenly the harsh screech of a raven split the night and a large, black bird flew up from the base of the falls and disappeared into the forest beyond.
"Nothing could survive that," the miller muttered, shouldering his battered wooden staff and marching down the path towards the towne.
Raven had turned into a bird just before she and her husband hit the water at the base of the falls. Lord Darkholme would not be abusing her anymore. She had flown above the villagers and had waited until they had gone before morphing into her human form and searching the area for the old man and her son. She found nothing. She cried herself to sleep that night, rocking back and forth in that lonely forest.
Made it up. Whatever.
Lady Raven Darkholme had been keeping her blue, demonic child a secret from her husband, Lord Darkholme, and from the small towne of Stufen for almost a week now. Raven knew that no one would believe that the deformed baby she had borne was the son of Lord Darkholme.
She had been discovered, and now she was fleeing into the forest, her child wrapped in a blanket and clutched tightly to her chest. Sweat dripped from her brow and made her dress cling to her body as she raced on, the angry shouts of the villagers pushing her onward.
At last, she had reached the end of the road. A deep rapids caused by the river flowed over the path, turning into a waterfall as they gushed over the cliff to her right.
Raven chanced a look over her shoulder, she could hear the loud, angry shouts of the mob and the snarls and yowls of the dogs as they strained against their leads. They would be upon her in a matter of minutes.
She carefully pulled the blanket away from her son's face and stared into his glowing yellow eyes, her own filled with tears.
"I'll always love you," she whispered as she planted a kiss on his fuzzy brow. She let the tears flow, not caring, as she held the baby over the falls and made ready to throw him in.
"Wait!" a voice hissed from the bushes behind her.
Raven spun around, her violent red hair whipping in her face as she peered into the darkness. A frail, bent old man hobbled out of the bushes and gestured to the baby in her arms.
"I'll take it!" he whispered, and gently lifted the infant from his mother's grasp. "There, there little one," he chuckled softly as the baby began to cry. He bounced the wailing babe softly and hobbled back into the foliage.
Raven watched them go, saying a prayer under her breath for the safety of her son. Just then, the angry mob appeared on the path and quickly surrounded her, their torches and pitchforks held high. Their leader, Lord Darkholme himself, strode up to Raven and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"What have you done with the demon child!" he demanded, shaking her roughly. "Answer me!"
Raven looked up at him, her tearing eyes dignified and proud. "I threw his into the falls," she told him, jerking away from his grip.
The old miller, the same man who would take wheat and flour daily to the Darkholme castle, leaned over to stare down into the darkness that was the bottom of the waterfall.
"Nothing could survive that," he said, stepping away from the edge. "If she is tellin' the truth and all," he added.
"Fine," Lord Darkholme turned, his cloak swirling behind him as he marched off back towards the trail.
Raven watched him for a moment, then let out a bloodcurdling scream and threw herself at her husband, biting and scratching ferociously, rolling on the ground and wrestling right next to the edge of the falls.
The villagers cried out when they both tumbled over, falling, falling. Suddenly the harsh screech of a raven split the night and a large, black bird flew up from the base of the falls and disappeared into the forest beyond.
"Nothing could survive that," the miller muttered, shouldering his battered wooden staff and marching down the path towards the towne.
Raven had turned into a bird just before she and her husband hit the water at the base of the falls. Lord Darkholme would not be abusing her anymore. She had flown above the villagers and had waited until they had gone before morphing into her human form and searching the area for the old man and her son. She found nothing. She cried herself to sleep that night, rocking back and forth in that lonely forest.
Made it up. Whatever.