The Raven

Twelve

Just as he had envisioned, standing before him is the most beautiful person Henry has ever seen in his entire life. The slender boy, who Henry still cannot believe is the raven, dons black clothing, allowing him to easily blend into the shadows, and his pale skin seems to glow almost ethereally in the moonlight. His facial features are rather feminine, their softness and delicateness graceful in appearance, holding the kind of beauty that even a straight man could find himself irrevocably and unabashedly attracted to. His long, black hair tied securely atop his head looks as soft as feathers; a slight blue tinge shimmers into the dark strands in the faint lighting, and Henry finds himself wondering what it might look like in the sunshine especially let down to flow freely. And his eyes--those ruby red orbs that Henry has so obsessively been thinking about, are even more enchanting than he had initially thought.

"You are... beautiful," Henry whispers, his gaze continuously roaming over the boy in front of him. The fluttering in his chest is unstopping, and Henry momentarily fears that the organ may well fly away. "You are even more stunning than I had imagined," he admits quietly, mostly to himself, but he cannot find it within himself to feel embarrassed for confessing it aloud.

Raven peers at the prince in shock, his facial expression contorted in confusion. Prince Henry could not possibly have meant those words, not about him. Perhaps it is too dark in this room, and he cannot see very well. The strain on Henry's vision must make the raven's features indistinguishable to his eyes. That must be it; for as long as Raven can remember, his mother has told him how hideous he is. There could not be a way that someone as perfect as the prince himself could be... attracted to him. Right? Or perhaps Henry is simply suffering a mental break and is hallucinating the raven to look like... well, like anyone other than himself.

The raven's train of thought derails as he silently stares at Henry, all ideas of whether or not he had intended to say those words vanishing into thin air. He freely and unembarrassedly roams his eyes over the prince's handsome face and desirable physique, drinking him in. Similar to the last time the raven saw him, Henry looks absolutely delectable. The growing tension between them causes an eruption of butterflies in the raven's stomach, his feet twitching to move closer and his fingers itching to reach out and touch him.

The two simply stand there wordlessly, observing each other in mutual awe for several minutes before Raven convinces himself to tear his gaze away and break the silence. It almost pains him to do so; however, this... whatever it is, cannot last forever, no matter how much the raven would enjoy it. Burning a hole into the floor with his stare, the raven asks, "Are you not afraid of me, Your Highness?"

"Please, call me 'Henry,'" the prince responds, his voice suddenly sounding huskier than it had previously. "Why would I be afraid of you?" he asks, his eyebrow lifting to match his curious tone.

Unsure how to answer the question without raising any suspicions about how he came to be or how he was raised, the raven simply further averts his gaze. He can feel his cheeks heating under the watchful eye of the prince, but he refuses to give out any unnecessary information that may well send Henry running for the hills; Raven is not mentally prepared for such a heartbreak.

Unable to withstand the prolonged silence between them, Henry asks, "Do you have a name?"

"No, I am just 'the raven,'" he replies, his voice tainted with a sadness that squeezes Henry's heart. "My mother even calls me 'Raven,'" he adds quietly, crossing his arms over his chest as if trying to somehow disappear. The thought traipses through his mind briefly; it would be easy enough to just vanish into the shadows and hide himself from his unexpected but not unwelcome visitor. It would certainly ease the pressure he is feeling right now. However, the raven feels a small pang in his chest at the thought; his very soul wishes to be closer to Henry, not to hide from him.

"So Raven is not your name?" asks Henry, attempting to lessen his confusion and receive clarification on the matter. "Then why does your mother call you that?"

The raven shakes his head, breathing deeply through his nose before answering, "Because that is what I am. Mother has said that I do not need a name; I am only here to serve my purpose, nothing more. Names are given only to those of significance in this world, not to monstrous creatures like me."

With his confusion growing, and a newfound anger toward the other boy's mother, Henry tries to keep his tone as level as possible when he questions, "What do you mean that is what you are?" As much as he would like to begin a verbal tirade about how none of the raven's mother's words are true, he does not want to upset the boy further. Henry understands that his mere appearance in the boy's room is likely a lot to take in; he would not want to accidentally cause any further distress by speaking ill about his mother.

The raven makes eye contact for several seconds, mentally debating whether or not he should trust the prince. The pull in his chest tells him to trust him blindly, and the raven accepts the instinct as something he can place his faith into. "I will show you," he replies, his gaze remaining locked onto Henry's. His eyes begin glowing, and he quickly transforms into his raven form.

Henry gapes in profound awe and admiration, affection blooming within him as he visually appreciates the incredible bird before him. He crouches down, his arms resting on his thighs, in an attempt to get a closer look. His right hand reaches forward slowly, carefully, his fingertips just barely brushing against the soft and absolutely breathtaking feathers; he wants nothing more than to touch him, both in this form and his human one. "You are quite beautiful in this form, too," Henry confesses in a quiet whisper. "I would like to give you a name if you would allow me to," he says, slightly louder than his previous tone. "Or I can call you 'Raven,' if you prefer."

The raven stares at the prince for a moment, thinking about the offer, before shifting back into his human self. "I think I would like a name," he murmurs, his cheeks painted a bright pink, causing a smile to spread across Henry's face as he stands from his lowered position.