A Raven's Tale

1 | Homecoming

The 'For Sale' sign stuck up like a sore thumb at the edge of the abandoned yard. Overgrown grass rose to mid-shin, and wild flowers swung violently as the oncoming thunderstorm rumbled above. Only the paved sidewalk offered a clear path to the front door.

Moments ago, the sky was clear and blue, a foreshadowing of a good day. Now, the angry sky turned a fuming gray. Each lightning strike turned into an electric presage of bad luck to come.

Rory tried to ignore the sick feeling that settled at the bottom of her stomach, twisting and begging for her attention.

The cardboard box in her hand suddenly felt heavier, like she neatly packed the last five years beside her knick-knacks and childhood keepsakes. She looked to the sky, and then back to her sister's parked Ford Edge.

Amanda still sat in the driver's seat, staring straight out into the distance, to the empty country road ahead of the car, like she couldn't believe she was here—couldn't believe they were here again.

It was stupid of Rory to believe they actually escaped. It was even stupider to think they wouldn't be dragged back down here, to the gulf of Alabama.

She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the broken windows. Her long black hair fell like silky ink from her head and framed her pale face. Her cheeks flamed up with a ruddy red from exertion, and her exposed shoulders showed an endless stream of porcelain skin.

She looked like a ghost, and as a child, she was often mistaken for one.

"Come on," Rory screamed above the rumbling of thunder. She set the box underneath the protection of the front porch, where the rocking chairs—once white, now just the color of rotten wood—swayed with the wind. "Let's just finish this later."

Amanda ignored her, like she didn't hear.

There was that tug in her stomach again—that undeniable fear that curled all the way up to her ribcage. She was good at hiding it. Amanda used to be better, concealing the fickle feeling between boyfriends and girlfriends, and a budding career, and her Ph.D program.

Now, Amanda had nothing, except Rory and their dead parents' house and a car packed to the brim with their old life.

"Hey." Rory knocked on the passenger window. Just as she did, the first fat droplets of rain trickled down from the sky and hit the blue exterior of the vehicle. "Mandy," she said through gritted teeth.

Amanda finally turned to stare at her younger sister, uncovering grey eyes bubbled up with tears.

Immediately, Rory ran to the other side of the Ford and opened up the driver door. Her hands trembled as she caught Amanda in her arms, wrapping the woman in a hug.

She couldn't remember the last time she saw her sister cry—or the last time she actually embraced her.

But now, Amanda was a steady weight beneath her, suddenly clasping her fingers into Rory's sweatshirt. She curled them into desperate, tight fists, like she was terrified the younger woman would disappear from her hold.

"I thought it was over," Amanda whispered into Rory's ear. "I thought we were free."

Rory froze. Amanda wasn't scared—Amanda was older, and wiser, and always brave. When mom died, it was Rory who sobbed into her sister's shoulder, and Amanda who forced her to eat twice a day after dad's funeral.

Rory's hands only grasped tighter, unable to imagine ever letting her sister go.

***

Fifteen miles away, the gentle rumble of thunder only just began to echo across the sky. It didn't bother the man sitting behind a mahogany desk overflowing with a mix of yellowed maps, unreadable notes, and a stack of leather-bound books.

A gentle knock on the door pulled him away from his reading—which was a book his mother only touched a handful of times, and only when desperation warranted her studying.

"Come in," he said as he shut the book and placed it on a stack of papers.

A slender, freckled body slipped through the doorway. A mop of orange hair hung down to her protruding collarbones. A large sweatshirt and pair of joggers hid most of the stranger's body.

"The Ravencroft sisters are here," the young woman spoke in a soft voice. "They crossed the east border an hour ago, Fenris." She stuck to the edge of the wall, like she feared his next move.

The thought made Fenris angry, and without thinking, he released an annoyed growl.

The sound made the woman jump an inch into the air.

"I'm sorry—" Fenris blurted out. "I'm sorry, fuck. I'm sorry, Lily."

Lily watched the man with an unsure gaze, like she didn't believe him. Slowly, she nodded.

"It's fine." Lily's hand pressed onto the knob of the door, and Fenris wondered if it had ever left. "It's—you can't control it. We don't expect you to control it."

"It is a very broad term," Fenris replied. He stayed where he sat in his leather chair, but he wanted up. He needed to pace, and run, and tear and tear and tear—

"That's why they're here, Alpha," Lily whispered. "To help you." She offered him a gentle smile, one free of fear, although the stench still hung in the air like a second skin around the man.

"To help me," Fenris repeated her words, as if he needed to convince himself he could actually be helped—like he wasn't past that stage.

"Yes." She smiled up at him, like he wasn't rotting from the inside out. "To save you."

No, Fenris thought to himself, to save all of you. 

Author's Note

Gone for months because I had severe depression and anxiety-- turns out having the nexaplanon implant makes 30% of women-- specifically those with prior history of anxiety and depression-- want to kill themselves. Got it taken out two days ago (was supposed to have it for another twenty-four months, but if I kept it in, I wouldn't be here for another year, much less two), this is the first time in months I've written anything. Trying to get used to myself again, because I haven't known her for weeks. 

Iffy about this, but excited to see where it goes. Ideas are appreciated, because I have close to none. And comments and thoughts are always loved!