Page 13 of Wingless Crow: Part 1

The ornamental crystal in the window broke the sunset beyond it into geometrical shapes, which made the outside look like an abstract painting. Just like this world that I found myself in. It was a surreal, abstract place. A senseless dream that just wouldn’t end.

The door to the room opened, and a woman entered.

Her short curly hair was neatly styled between a pair of curved horns positioned on each side of her head. She carried a silver tray with dishes, which she deposited on the glass table by the fireplace. She then trotted across the room to me, the staccato of her small, polished hooves slightly muffled by the rug on the floor.

Horns and hooves? As odd as the woman looked, she fit right in in this bizarre place. Whereas I did not.

I didn’t belong here.

“Oh, by all the gods of Nerifir, just look at you!” The woman threw her hands up into the air, taking in my mud-covered feet, messy hair, and damp clothes. “Voron said you needed a bath, but it looks like I have to leave you soaking in lemon juice and vinegar overnight. What a mess.” She shook her head accusingly, making her blonde curls dance around her horns.

I smoothed the polyester skirt of my dress over my thighs and tried to shove my feet further under the bed and out of sight.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Brebie.” The woman straightened her frilly white apron over her powder-blue dress with a poofy skirt. “Voron sent me to look after you.”

“Who is Voron?”

Her sandy-blonde eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Why, he’s our High General. High General Voron. He is the one who brought you here.”

“Oh… Right.”

Of course, he would have a name in addition to his rank. Everyone had a name. Everyone, except for me…

I drew in a breath and let it trail out of me slowly, like air from a deflated balloon.

Brebie fetched the tray she’d brought and placed it on the bed next to me. “Why don’t you eat your dinner while we get your bath ready?”

The door flew open once again. Two men stomped in, carrying a full-size copper bathtub.

“Where do you want this, Brebie?” one of them asked.

“Right there,” she gestured, “by the fireplace.”

Both men had horns, too. The horns of one curled almost into circles close to his skull, like Brebie’s.

The other one not only had horns, his entire head looked like it came from a bull, complete with large brown eyes, long face, and a wide bovine nose. He also had a long tail, I noticed, as he bent over to deposit the bathtub in the place Brebie had pointed at. His long tail with a tuft of fur on the end whipped around his legs as he turned on his hooves.

“Thanks, boys,” Brebie blew them a kiss on their way out, then turned to me. “Let’s feed you now or, I fear you’ll pass out in the tub. You don’t look very good, honey.”

From a plate on the tray, she dumped some cooked chopped vegetables into a painted terracotta bowl, topped them with chunks of meat and fresh green herbs, then poured some red wine from a crystal carafe over the entire thing.

“There you go.” She handed me a silver spoon with a delicate filigree handle. “Can you hold this on your own, or should I feed you until you regain your strength?”

She seemed kind, even if a bit impatient, nudging me with the bowl.

“I can feed myself, thank you.” I gripped the spoon in my hand but didn’t touch the food. “Except that I’m not going to eat anything.”

Brebie propped her hands on her hips. “And why is that?”

“I’ve no idea what’s in this.” I eyed the bowl suspiciously.

“Turnips, carrots, potatoes, purple squash, braised venison, and fresh herbs from the royal garden, topped with cranberry wine from the Dakath Mountains,” she fired off the ingredients in one continuous line of words. “Is any of that not to your liking, dear?”

The dish smelled amazing, with a tendril of a unique flavor I’d never sensed before. But that made it only more suspicious.

“Not to my liking are the things youdidn’tmention. Like the pinkcamyteglitter and stuff.”

---