Upon the Ravens Wing

She observed her surroundings, taking in the empty darkness of her large, classic bedroom. The woman set her dull, grey eyes on her enormous arched window. She took in the sight of night's velvety, black cape, in awe of nature and in particular the patterns formed around the rich dark forest with the fullest of moons, in all of his glory, veiled amongst it.

She took her eyes off the void of night, and settled them on her gothic novel, its pages yellow and moth bitten with age. There was a lamp in her bedroom, but so dim was it’s light, that it was practically useless. Yet, the capricious woman went on, not minding the feeble, yellow glow. She looked up at the glass window again, the alabaster moon shining its faint, silvery light upon her face.

With little thought and a great urge she rose from her feather bed lifting the duvet and proceeded towards the wide mahogany window. Hesitating for a brief moment. Peering past the manor walls and onto the vast lavender fields enveloping the courtyard. She paused to marvel the lush indigo colour the buds adopted prior to full bloom and the peacefulness of their instinctive dance upon the impulsive zephyr passing through them.

The dim light filling the room disappeared and she turned to notice her lamp had gone out. A cry from the fields filled the night, a cry of death, and her gaze shifted back onto the world outside of her window, catching a fleeting glimpse of a raven taking flight, barely visible in the dark of night but silhouetted against the bright moon, its deep eye, a shade of yellow too amazing to describe, burnt an image on her mind as she made a hasty decision, grabbed the unlit lamp, quickly lit it again and leaped out her window, floating gently onto the soft grass that meets the rugged brickwork of the daunting mansion.

With quick but gliding steps she careered towards the rusted iron gates of the servants entrance. She begun to fiddle with the antique bolt, trying to free it from the clutching vines, finally the lock unlatched. She stepped out past the boundary of the secure mansion grounds and took a few short steps across the path into the vast lavender meadows. She immediately became overwhelmed by the sweet aroma of the buds seasoned by the fresh dew. The heavens open abruptly and the sky roars accompanied by a bright sword of lightening racing for the horizon.

Once again she heard the ravens cry and spotted it flying overhead. She followed it with her eye north until it disappeared behind the crest of a nearby hill. As the raven escaped out of her line of sight a figure appeared, standing proudly upon the crest, lit only by the periodic bursts of light.

The man is tall and thin, of an enviable height. The brief slivers of light barely revealed his handsome face, framed perfectly by his long black raven hair resting on his high collar. There is a feeling of darkness about him, an alluring essence of sinister, but she concluded it was only due to the atmosphere of the night and the way the shadows cloaked his eyes. He turned and his dusty black coat twirled with his movement as he disappeared from view.

Curious as to his identity, she pursued him, springing up the slope.

Reaching the peak she scans the endless fields before her and finds that he has eluded her. Suddenly an icy wind whips up the slope blanketing her, but she felt a warm hush on the back of her neck.

As she turned the shivers raced up her thin, fragile spine.

There was no-one there, nothing as far as the eye can see except for the extensive collection of lavender buds. Satisfied with the evenings adventure she decided to make her way back to bed. As she walked back she wondered who the man in the black coat might have been and whether she would ever see him again. She began to think that she may have taken a fancy to him, although she quickly realised this is only result of her extensive collection of gothic and romantic novels. Resolving with the fact that she may never see him again to find out, she continued the trek back towards the manor.

Stepping inside, she turned to latch the bolt and fumbled with the lamp, spilling oil upon the vines. Trying to not be so careless she latched it precisely with little noise made. Then again from the fields she heard the raven’s cry. She looked up and her eyes meet with those two empty yellow discs. Even though her shadow was cast upon him she could make out the shape of the man and immediately sensed her danger. His right hand lunged towards her through the vines and only just through chance of his coat catching on the iron she just escaped his grasp. In fright she dropped the lamp allowing it to explode with a bright light and bursting into flames, igniting the freshly spilt