10-03-2018, 10:13 AM
{maleficar}
My corrupt nature is empty of grace.He can’t help but laugh when she actually glides from her tree branch and makes a graceful landing on him. Of course, his mother had warned each of the witches that ravens were smarter than they let on, so be kind to them. He remains still when she edges closer with little hops up his crest until she can examine his hat, careful not to upset her balance. Another short chuckle emits from him when the hat disappears and the bird issues her complaint from further down his back. Maleficar turns his head to watch her while she considers the new title.
There seems to be a sort of consciousness much deeper than he anticipated, even in his attempt to respect her intelligence. He grows suspicious of his new companion and yet he does not feel threatened by her withheld secrets. Mal leans down to pluck a bit of dry grass and a tiny pinch of mud from the ground before he swallows it. Then he blows softly in the crow’s direction until the taste of earth and darkness forms a witch’s cap on the raven’s head. Hers is a little better formed, he thinks, probably due to its size and the practice he had with his own.
“What a fine witch you make, Poe,” he says with a faint smile. “Have you ever wished you could be someone different? I think about that sort of thing a lot.”
He turns to watch the other creatures roam the meadow as he falls silent and a slow sigh eases from his lungs. It’s true, Mal has always imagined a different kind of life for himself, one where he didn’t have sisters to miss or where he fit in better. But these are the kinds of things his magic cannot soothe and so he normally keeps the thoughts to himself. He finds it easy to confess this idea to her. Probably because she cannot speak. She will not tell him what a fool he might be to waste time dreaming like that.
There seems to be a sort of consciousness much deeper than he anticipated, even in his attempt to respect her intelligence. He grows suspicious of his new companion and yet he does not feel threatened by her withheld secrets. Mal leans down to pluck a bit of dry grass and a tiny pinch of mud from the ground before he swallows it. Then he blows softly in the crow’s direction until the taste of earth and darkness forms a witch’s cap on the raven’s head. Hers is a little better formed, he thinks, probably due to its size and the practice he had with his own.
“What a fine witch you make, Poe,” he says with a faint smile. “Have you ever wished you could be someone different? I think about that sort of thing a lot.”
He turns to watch the other creatures roam the meadow as he falls silent and a slow sigh eases from his lungs. It’s true, Mal has always imagined a different kind of life for himself, one where he didn’t have sisters to miss or where he fit in better. But these are the kinds of things his magic cannot soothe and so he normally keeps the thoughts to himself. He finds it easy to confess this idea to her. Probably because she cannot speak. She will not tell him what a fool he might be to waste time dreaming like that.