Crow

Chapter 5

As the winter days became bitter and cold, as shadows swallowed the sun and left the world in endless night, The Lady froze with it. She burned at the touch, the glacial freeze congealing his tears, making them remain within the deep confines of his soul. His isolation grew further, the cook's daughter being sent home unceremoniously over a minuscule spot in one piece of cutlery, the cook avoiding his presence, a message received. In the halls, he saw hanging shadows chasing him, faint whispers in a tongue, not quite his own and not the Common Tongue by any means, calling him home. The state slowly fell into disrepair. No matter how much effort Corbin put in, for every cobweb he removed from the dusty closets or how many clothes he would mend, twenty more would appear, mocking his efforts. Entire days he spent not speaking anything more than "Yes, Madam," or "Yes, Sir." When he laid in bed at night, he asked himself whether all his dreams and hopes, all the tales of his childhood and warm afternoons with Mother had led up to this.

Corbin didn't know anymore.

But Corbin couldn't leave. His promise to Mother, his misguided love even for The Lady prevented him to do just that. No matter what, he held on to his hope, his determination, even as his smiles dimmed like the dusking light at any underhanded mention, only to be lit once again by the never-ending fire of his heart. Even if not, even if he could leave and never come back, where would he turn?

He didn't have anywhere else to go.

Lucinda remained the same as always in those cold mornings, making him fetch dainty boots from the outside frost without even allowing him to change from his nightclothes, shirking every single one of her responsibilities upon him, insulting him and denigrating him with every step he took. Her hatred embittered, making her more and more condescending, faking sympathy for an audience that was much too eager to overlook her flaws. He slowly lost the desire to resist her bitter insults, finding the path of least resistance much easier than facing The Lady's cruel judgment or Father's obvious disapproval.

Overall, a pleasant experience.

On the other hand, Anastasia's fear seemed to be disappearing much like salt dissolves in water. Feeling emboldened by her sister's actions, she started acting accordingly with Corbin. She wasn't cruel, by any means. She didn't have The Lady's cold-bloodedness or Lucinda's sadistic streak. But she saw him as an inferior. Corbin was a footsoldier to every single one of his whims, expected to comply with every one of her caprices with no hesitation. Whenever she did not get what she wanted when she wanted, she raged and screamed and roared at volume impressive to a girl a few years younger than Corbin, her grey eyes surprisingly void of any emotion but conceit in them. Bitter, false dragon tears would crawl down her cheeks but, as soon as Corbin was aptly punished for his oversight, as soon as Corbin's meals were taken away or even more tasks to comply with, they would immediately disappear, whisked away into a large, smug, self-satisfied grin, much like the cat that caught the bird.

Corbin began to lose Mother, the scraps and pieces of her memories growing fainter and fainter. As time passed, he could no longer recall her sweet laughter. The melodies she had sung became a whisper in his ears, elusive yet constant. He no longer remembered the exact shade of her hair, the softness of her touch, the mixture of rain and flowers and something wild that always seemed to follow her. Their days beneath the willow became foggy, his mind drawing a blank on those peaceful days. What remained clear were her stories, her strongest legacy in Corbin's mind, ever-present, but Corbin couldn't help but mourn what might have been.

Maybe it had been his fault.

The boy still didn't appear in the frosted clearing.

Corbin continued his weekly visits to Cú, sometimes catching Nanna during one of her many visits to her "sources," following her to musty old rooms with bitter odors, stores with millions of herbs hanging from the roof and suspicious back rooms with dusty parchments. As he followed behind her, the more secretive those visits became. Vague metaphors and hurried whispers pervaded those conversations, but Corbin still followed Nanna's wide-brimmed hat like a lost duckling, her being the only source of guidance he could find in this brand-new world.