"Mother Anita, she's doing it again. She's feeding the murder." A red haired child pointed to a young girl giving bread and seeds to crows.
"Do not mind her, Laura." The matron chided, patting the nosy child at the back and escorting her back into the dining hall. "Belligerence and misfortune is bred into children who disobey."
They walk side by side into the lifeless gray stony walls of the orphanage, and as soon as they're gone, the child speaks, whispering to the crow.
"I don't think you bring misfortune." She whispered to the murder, her dark bangs gently brushing her silver eyes. "Grown-ups tend to be stupid most times. Crows don't bring misfortune. They bring coins."
The little girl grins, digging in her pocket and showing a palm full of silver coins and an array of shiny objects. Necklace beads, bottle caps, little dimes, rusted cufflinks, a single oblong silvery chain, a shard, a hook, needles and buttons. All gifts from her dark feathered friends.
And all of them silver, the same as the eyes of their keeper.
In the midst of gray stone chapels and children of the orphanage, she was the only silver.
The single shiny thing.
"See?" She showed, grinning proudly at her collection as the crows fluttered their wings curiously.
She pockets it and from her small plate of food, began tearing her lunch to bits, saving half of her bread for herself.
She tosses it to the awaiting murder. "Have more, but don't invite anymore friends or else I'll starve at lunch."
The crows completely annihilate the pieces, pausing slightly when they notice a shadow of a figure above.
The little girl too, looks up.
The matron looks at the child in distaste. A child born with silver eyes and a gaunt face, skipping meals every breakfast and supper to feed the murder and questioning every decision made by the matrons.
She was a thorn at her side, a strange, strange child who somehow caught the eye of the headmaster. Giving nightmares to the poor children of the orphanage, talking to crows day and night, and breeding trouble wherever she went. The wretched little girl sparked trouble, tinkering around the orphanage whenever she pleased, questioning their teachings. Irritating her fellow matrons each time she raised her hand.
Worse, they couldn't get rid of her. Tossed from home to home and returning never a year more. She had already been returned by her adoptees--two whom were dead--five times, calling her strange and ill in the head.
Not that she could blame them, for all she knew this child could be a witch.
Certainly wicked. Certainly strange.
Certainly a freak.
The matron clicked her tongue down at the child who was gazing at her with contempt, surrounded by the dark feathers of crows who circled protectively at her.
Whatever misfortune were to happen at the orphanage, she was certain the prime cause is squatting in front of her.
"Come Margaret, the headmaster calls for you today."
The child gazes mysteriously back as she cautiously steps beside her. The moment she does the crows beside her start squawking loudly, protesting in the leave of their master.
The little girl shushes them with her finger, a command she taught them since they were young.
She lets the matron escort her, and once inside, the little girl waits by the headmaster's office.
It opens with a creak.
A tinge of orange light escapes from the office and into the door, adding color to the dark depressing halls of the orphanage.
Inside, a deep authoritative voice calls
"Soren?"
Margaret smiles, a true child like smile that shocked the matron, her gaunt face brightening immensely at the mention of her name.
"I'm here headmaster." She replies, perhaps for the hundredth time as she closes the door behind her.
YOU ARE READING
MORGAN
Fantasy"Why are you giving this to me?" "Because I have lost faith in blood. And this," He slips the ring into her finger. "Is testament that you are my blood. Wherever you are, no darkness or creature shall doubt that you, are one of us. Remember. Choose...
