what to wear when…reigning as the corvid queen. a thin, black telephone wire slices the sky like an a teacher’s corrective slash. it slants down slightly when she perches on it, her talons scratching and tapping as her claws close. her feathers are a gleaming oil-black. she hurtles an aggressive screech and clicks her beak. mythology paints her kind as evil omens and death-bringers. after centuries of assumptions, she decided that if mankind were to hate her, she’d have to earn it. she won’t settle for being the corpse-gnawer, the wartime warning - no, if she were to be seen as death, she would be Death with a capital D, queen of the underworld, queen of death and blood and even atonement.
post 256 of an infinity-part series