Chapter Text
The first living thing outside the castle walls I saw were the crows. I believed them to be a myth. A legend. A hopeful lie. Is that not what all legends strive to be? They seemed to be appearing in the forest more and more as I run deeper into the wood. My dress does not snag, thankfully. I suppose I should thank the wind for that. I whisper to the moonlight, asking her to guide my path but hide my pursuers in the dark.
She obliges. I thank her as the path is lit with moonbeams. She leads me through the wood, the wind gently nudging me away from the paths that would cause me harm. The crows seem to increase in number, or maybe I am only just now noticing them. I cry out as I see the wood set aflame.
No. The wood is sacred. Special. It is cruel, heartless, to destroy the spirits living here. I shudder softly, the wind suddenly chilling me to the bone.
Do not go back. It whispers in my ear. They will not stop. He will not stop.
But I can not leave the woods to die. I can not leave them to burn. The spirit of fire is apathetic. It takes from everyone and everything. It does not differentiate between the worthy and cruel. It simply takes.
I have to go. I know this. If I stay he will use me as an heir again. I can not become a symbol of cruelty as he is. I can not stay.
But how can I go? Abandon my people? For they are my people, even if I can not rule them. Or even help them.
The moon darkens that path, the wind pushes me forward, and the earth seems to rumble beneath my feet. My eyes catch on a crow, a necklace on their neck. They tilt their head at me, gently, and they seem to smile…
Go.
The message is clear. I must leave. I shall return, one day, I know it. But for now I must leave the Uncle to destroy the wood I love. The wood that I have protected until now. The wood that now protects me as I turn on my heel and flee the ever encroaching flames.
I climb and climb, reaching the top of the tree, skirts swishing in the air as I beam down at my wood. The wind ruffles the leaves, singing their song to welcome me back. It lifts my hair in the sky and I can’t stop my laughter as I reach for the leaves now floating in the sky. I am young. Seven or Eight. Before the worst of it all began. I do not debate leaving the castle, much less the kingdom. Why would I? This is where I am meant to be.
I am nine. I am hiding in the dungeons, for it is safer there, and there are bandages to be found. I simply can not go by the loud sobbing noises of the monster and the yelling of the guard who keeps her there. He is said to protect us from the beast. But the monster does not sound so bad, not nearly as cruel as the ranting of the guard and the sound of a whip. I hide from Uncle, for he is searching. I do not want to be hurt again. He has hurt me enough today. The ground rises up, the earth lifting the stone tile up up up until I am hidden and there is a new wall. I tilt my head at them, and feel the wall shift slightly to the left. Away from Uncle. I follow the earth into hidden places and caves and into an opening in the forest. They urge me to go. To leave my Uncle who has left scars in my flesh and fractures in my bones. I turn away, and head back into the castle. I am not meant to leave.
I am 11. I am exploring-hiding but I can not say that without feeling the terror return-the castle. I have found every nook and cranny. I avoid the dungeons. I avoid the gardens. I avoid the windows. The Moon calls for me to join her. The wind calls for me to play one more game with it, to be free with it once more. The earth tries to keep me safe, makes walls and boundaries against my uncle that I can not manage on my own. But they are always forced to let me go. I hide in the steel armor halls, full of knight statues and swords. I take one down, hearing Uncle’s words screaming through my mind. Useless. Monster. I should’ve been left with my parents to die in the flames. I take the sword and head into the dungeons for the first time in months. Stone does not speak to me, it is not living. But the earth, the dirt, the base of all living things does. It leads me to the monster. I intend to slay it. I do not. I am not meant to leave her.
I am 11. It is a week later. We have been found. The Monster-they have no name, though they want one-is forced to watch as Uncle kills me. She does not know I can come back. Neither do I. Neither did Uncle. When I awoke in a coffin, entire body aching, I whimpered. Cried. I called for the earth to save me, the wind to hear me, the moon to shine on me again. I had abandoned them, in favor of pretending I was safe. I was never safe. They forgive me. I am freed from the ground. I manage to claw my way through the wood and once I do I am on the surface. I was lifted six feet above the ground. Given a helping hand. But I had to free myself. My Uncle murdered me, there was no doubt anymore of his love. I tried to run. I was punished for living when he said to die. I was punished for running when I was meant to stay down. I am punished for helping the Monster deep deep in the ground where there is no sunlight and no warmth. Where there is only stone, smothering any living thing. I am not meant to be alive.
I am 13. It is hard to move. I am always hurting, aching. I have not seen the Moon in ever so long, felt the wind against my skin, heard the rumblings of the earth. I am simply kept in this tower, unless I am a showpiece. The Princess. The Heir to this cursed kingdom. No, I remind myself. It is not my kingdom that is cursed. Just the ruler. I make plans. I make promises to myself. I will not die here. I begin to learn. I learn of Tim Drake. I learn of the crows, and the girl I remember from ever so long ago however faintly. A general’s daughter. Her father was killed when he opposed Uncle. She sent the crows after us all. She wreaked destruction and havoc in moments and disappeared in hours. Dozens were left dead, hundreds maimed, all in close contact with Uncle. He lost an eye to her crows. I can not leave. Not yet. But I am meant to leave.
I am 14. I am tired. I am hurt. I do not know what it means to sleep. I do not know what safety is. I have not since I was a child. I simply know of fear, and cold, and regret. Deep regret for the people I have failed to save. The Monster is dead. I miss them. I miss the safety we had now and then, hidden in the inky blackness and the horrific cold. But it was safe. And now I read by the window in the room I stay locked up in, the moon lighting my forbidden texts and scrolls. It takes ever so long, but I find a map of our world, not just our kingdom. I know where I must go. I must free myself, then the Moon and the Wind and the Earth shall help me. I am not meant to be hurt, to be killed again and again. I am meant to be free.
I am meant to free my kingdom. My world.
I wake up softly, and I am lucky that I am on such good terms with the wind otherwise I would be cold to my core. The crows are in a cloud above my head. Guarding me…in a sense. No. They are watching. They believe that I am something. Perhaps good. Perhaps not. I bear the mark of the King. I have the stench of the rich. I am…unwelcome. Or I should be. But I have been claimed by the Moon and the wind and the earth. They do not know why. Neither do I. I do not care. I am simply meant to find The Dark Lord. Tim Drake.
I stand, hunger gnawing in my stomach. I feel the skirts swish around my ankles and miss the days where I was allowed pants. Those days were wonderful. I start walking down the path again. The Moon is gone. The sun does not particularly care for me one way or another. The ground is quieter, though the wind is ever persistent as I walk. I feel the encouragements it whispers in my ear, the way it cleans leaves from my path. It whistles songs for me, to keep me occupied and not thinking of how I shall be punished and hurt whenever I am caught.
I won’t be caught. Uncle shall never get to beat me to death again. He will never get to own me. I will die out here, true. But I shall die as a symbol. Like the Crow Child. Like the Dark Lord. They live and shall free our world, but in death-cremation I suppose-I shall join their ranks in the forbidden texts of the uprisings.
I continue walking away from the kingdom of the Emerald King. I continue on my way towards the kingdom of the Dark Lord. I do not plan to stay, of course. It is simply a nice way to walk while I debate how I shall finally be killed. Well how I shall be tortured before burned publicly in front of my kingdom. Before I am found. For no one in their right mind will protect me. I shall probably left in the dark again. Uncle was always a fan of using cold against me. I remember being little. I smile softly, hearing the crunch of leaves under my feet as I walk forward down the autumnal paths. I remember being a small child, before Ra’s became quite so cruel. I had blankets then. Oh I miss blankets. Warmth. Having places to hide, and I hide not out of fear but out of fun. I enjoyed it then.
Now I’m in the middle of nowhere, hiding in the hopes that I inspire hope in my death. I will not be mourned, obviously. But I will be remembered. In a strange way. But I will be remembered.
I am not my Uncle’s, never again.
I am meant to be free, even if in death.
Many hours later, the sun high in the sky and the wind dying down, I am trapped alone with my thoughts and memories. They are cruel, petty things. I ignore them the best I can, heading up yet another hill. Leaves litter the ground, brown and orange and yellows setting the ground aflame. I feel another ache of sadness as I think of my wood, the wood being burned as Uncle looks for me. It is a message. First the wood. Then me.
I reach the top and gasp softly. Oh . Oh how beautiful. I had forgotten how other kingdoms look. How they have tapestries and murals and color . It’s wondrous. I can scarcely breathe at the awe-striking effect the place leaves on the land.
It is not a show of power, simply people existing. It is beautiful. It has been ever so long since I saw others simply existing.
I am suddenly aware of the stilling of the wind, the earth calmly beneath me. The crows land next to me, one after another. There are dozens. I can not move, not that I would dare to. Something sacred is happening, I believe. I am proved right when a mammoth crow appears, a child on it’s back. I am surprised they are able to stay upright, with how large the corvid is.
To think, I had never seen one before, was not sure they existed, but a day ago. And now I am surrounded by these omens, these symbols of freedom.
Uncle has said they mean death.
They do in a sense. The end of his power. But for the rest of our world? They symbolize safety. Freedom. Rebellion.
The girl lands next to me, and leaps over, twin brains bouncing on her back.
“Hi! My name’s Eevee. What is your name and crow-nouns?”
Eevee. The infamous Crow Child.
I might stand a chance at survival after all.