"Black Bird Sings" by Holly ´bat baby´ Davidson

Mother of Crows

Cordeillia McFey was a girl who lived with her grandparents. Her skin was paler than ivory and her hair blacker than ebony. Her eyes, so blue they appeared black in some lights. She was a quiet mysterious girl. She and her parents had many secrets. Then, that was a dangerous thing

Her grand parents worried about her. She always longed to fly. The people of her village called her a witch. This worried her grandparents even more. Her father had died, when she was five and, her mother, a witch was burned. The villagers had killed her, And with her, Cordeillia's happy spirit.

So they nurtured her soul with tales of bright happy things. She was taught at home and worked at their farm. They thought she would be all right. They over looked her burning passionate need to fly.

When her chores were done, she would sit and watch the birds wheel and spin in the air. She would often run into the field and sing to the sky. At night she often strayed into the field and neighboring woods to watch the moon. And the stars

Her grandparents worried.

More and more often, they found her out at night. Until they locked her in her room. Although, they could not prevent her from dreaming. Dreaming of black birds, the moon at its fullest, and the glittering, smiling stars.

Her grandparents worried

She became withdrawn and quiet, more so than before. Her normal pale skin became paler and waxy. So they let her into the night once more.

Instead they put more emphasis on the pure good tales they fed her all her life. They introduced her to something new…angels.

This aspect blew her mind. At this time, she was only 14. The thought of a human person with wings to fly was breathtaking. She became obsessed with the concept.

When she plucked chickens, geese, or ducks, for a meal, she saved the feathers. Soon, she had a whole collection. She cut a length of cloth and began sewing. She used twigs for sturdiness. The white feathers covered the material. Soon, she had fashioned makeshift wings, although she needed three more feathers.

She asked her grandmother if chicken was what was being prepared for dinner that night. The answer was no. They were having fish. The wings had taken her a year to complete. She could wait no longer.

She set out into the woods to find the feathers. She searched long and hard, until she stumbled upon a clearing. On a grey stone, she found three feathers, black as ebony. She collected them and started for home.

She sewed the feathers to the wings and put them on.

They fit.

That night, she walked to her favorite spot, a tree over a cliff. She wore the wings. She lifted her face to the wind and said. "Can I fly now?" she jumped from the rocky ledge, waiting for her wings to catch her.

Then she felt it. Feet. Birds feet. 50 black birds flew from the clouds, plucked her from the sky, and cradled her in a blanket of wings.

Cordeillia was never seen again. Except on the eve of august third, when a girl with skin white as ivory, hair black as ebony and eyes so blue they appear black in some lights, can be seen on a cliff side. Her wings are black as pitch. Some say she is the mother of crows.