Whispers are Raven's only companion. Endless whispers nipping at her sanity, slowly chipping away her humanity as the days passed by. Morning til night, just whispers. Most were in her head, taunting her, torturing her with the eternal wails of vengeance and spite breaking through her eardrums. Shivers of guilt constantly ran down her spine, reminding her of her disobedience; of her failure. Oh, didn't she remember everything.
Raven remembered her childhood, the small meadows Aslan would create for her to roam freely in. She remembered the disapproving looks from her father every time he caught her sneaking away from camp, and the proud smirk that grew on his face when she perfected a counterattack. She remembered her journey with the Pevensies, the voices never stopped going on about them, all the unintended chaos they left in their wake. She remembered her little Lucy, a valiant queen she was proud to consider a sister. She remembered Susan and her incorrigible beauty that radiated through every bit of her. She remembered the trouble-maker, Edmund, who was always behind every michevious play on words.
Then she remembered her beloved Peter. The voices were keen on always mentioning him. His manner of protectiveness and tender care replayed in Raven's thoughts, all of his little quirks gave her a strong sense of despite. Actually, a sense of hatred. He never left her thoughts, his presence lingering over her shoulders, reminding her of what she lost; what she gave up. All to be amongst the living, to breathe the same ghastly air as every other creature.
Then she remembered her new life in Calormen. Her quaint little village home right on the border of Calormen, where she lived amongst other foreign villagers. They never questioned the pale girl, or how she managed to not end up on the streets as a scum, but everyone was suspicious. Word had spread of the thief who stole the precious belongings of the late Crystalline of Narnia, and the rumors that she might still be alive. The rumors were never proven, but they still stuck onto Raven like a nasty leech, giving her a memory to guilt upon.
The voices went onto the next form of torture: reminding her of the darkness that followed. Raven remembered receiving the news of the Pevensies disappearing back into their land two months later. She also remembered receiving the news that Narnia was under seige by Telmarines four months late, courtesy of the Telmarine border watch.
Then she remembered the blood.
The stench of warm, iron blood soaking the land, seeping into her armor and tainting Narnia's pure warrior crimson. The sickening pleasure of destruction echoing in her memory, flashes of scarlet faces reminding her of the sin that plague Narnia. So much screaming, begging, fear; too much for Raven to handle. Too much blood on her hands.
Stone filled her veins, an aching punishment worse than death. It wasn't sudden; the concrete constricted around her muscles and bones, transformed her flesh to fine, black marble, and left her frozen in eternity. Raven was trapped in her transgressions, the punishment of the Narnian whispers circling her with the same chants endlessly.
"Fallen from light, rise in darkness
Angel of spite, avenge the dead.
Hear our cries, keeper of death
Restore our lives with a Telmarine breath.
Bring about your wrath, reaper of souls
Save Narnia at last, Monarchs of Old..."
And then the stone cracked.