The sky was pale, its emptiness accentuated by the inky black wings of the ravens circling above. The boy stood still, his figure draped in black and crimson like a living embodiment of the dusk. His pale skin, almost ethereal, contrasted starkly with his jet-black hair that fell in soft, disheveled strands framing his face. The silver cross dangling from his neck glinted faintly as if defying the bleakness around him. The ravens were never far from him. They appeared whenever he felt the weight of his solitude or when the echoes of his past came too close. People spoke of him in whispers, calling him cursed, a shadow-walker, or even a demon’s child. But he bore their words with indifference, his eyes holding a quiet defiance that dared anyone to step closer. It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when he was just a boy, unburdened by the secrets he now carried. But that was before the ravens came, before the night he wandered too far into the woods and found himself beneath the watchful gaze of an ancient, unyielding presence. That night, he had heard a voice-not one of malice, but of quiet sorrow. “Take my burden,” it had whispered, “and I will grant you the strength to endure the pain.” The boy, too young to grasp the weight of such a pact, had nodded. And from that moment on, the ravens had followed him. Each bird carried a fragment of the boy’s emotions-his anger, his fear, his longing for a world where he could be free. Yet, instead of tormenting him, they seemed to shield him, their sharp cries warding off those who sought to harm him. Over time, he came to see them not as harbingers of doom, but as guardians, even friends. Tonight, as the wind whispered through the trees, the boy lifted his gaze to the sky. The ravens moved in perfect unison, a dance of chaos and precision. He reached out his hand, and one of the birds descended, its sharp eyes meeting his as if to ask a question. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. The raven tilted its head, understanding in its gaze, before taking flight again. Though the boy’s lips curled into the faintest smile, his eyes betrayed the weight he bore. He knew his path was one of solitude, but in the company of the ravens, he found solace. For they were not just his curse; they were his wings, his shadow, his eternal companions.
The sky was pale, its emptiness accentuated by the inky black wings of the ravens circling above. The boy stood still, his figure draped in black and crimson like a living embodiment of the dusk. His pale skin, almost ethereal, contrasted starkly with his jet-black hair that fell in soft, disheveled strands framing his face. The silver cross dangling from his neck glinted faintly as if defying the bleakness around him.
The ravens were never far from him. They appeared whenever he felt the weight of his solitude or when the echoes of his past came too close. People spoke of him in whispers, calling him cursed, a shadow-walker, or even a demon’s child. But he bore their words with indifference, his eyes holding a quiet defiance that dared anyone to step closer.
It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when he was just a boy, unburdened by the secrets he now carried. But that was before the ravens came, before the night he wandered too far into the woods and found himself beneath the watchful gaze of an ancient, unyielding presence.
That night, he had heard a voice-not one of malice, but of quiet sorrow. “Take my burden,” it had whispered, “and I will grant you the strength to endure the pain.” The boy, too young to grasp the weight of such a pact, had nodded. And from that moment on, the ravens had followed him.
Each bird carried a fragment of the boy’s emotions-his anger, his fear, his longing for a world where he could be free. Yet, instead of tormenting him, they seemed to shield him, their sharp cries warding off those who sought to harm him. Over time, he came to see them not as harbingers of doom, but as guardians, even friends.
Tonight, as the wind whispered through the trees, the boy lifted his gaze to the sky. The ravens moved in perfect unison, a dance of chaos and precision. He reached out his hand, and one of the birds descended, its sharp eyes meeting his as if to ask a question.
“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. The raven tilted its head, understanding in its gaze, before taking flight again.
Though the boy’s lips curled into the faintest smile, his eyes betrayed the weight he bore. He knew his path was one of solitude, but in the company of the ravens, he found solace.
For they were not just his curse; they were his wings, his shadow, his eternal companions.