Tales from the Wishing Well: Our Lady of Crows

Today's installment that, at first, seemed to want to be a poem then wanted to be prose again. I obliged it, fickle beast. I should note that I've finally managed to keep to my word count with this story, so hurrah!

Today's prompt was provided by quadrivium, a fellow Alabamian! I hope she enjoys it.

Read, enjoy, tip if you're moved, and comments are welcome!

(Psst, if you're completely confused as to what this Tales from the Wishing Well project is, click here to read an explanation.)

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Our Lady of Crows
A Tale from the Wishing Well

by Deborah J. Brannon

Mary tossed a coin into the well, and upon this coin was inscribed: Crow.

Inverted feathers, black to white slip sideways through a sky, ash-grey and breathless, all stopped-- the feathers explode in a shower of pale dust. A shadow clutches a burning brand and bears it earthward.

They say Crow stole light for us all, burned black when he set it in the sky. They do not say he was not alone or that his feathers were the color of starlight. His mate was the color of burnished gold in a westering sun, and it was her keen mind that prompted the act: stealing fire from the gods.

Some women remember the true tale: the women of dawn, with dew on their lips; the women of noon, with skin scorched umber; the women of midnight with eyes full of stars. These women of moment, perfect clarity, remember still how two crows took off in the nothing-dark, winged in tandem, together tamed the spark of life, and how it was she who first grasped the glittering brand.

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Please note: There will be a necklace inspired by this piece and it should appear by Friday.