You know who you are II

I used to hate the caw of the magpie, I used to fear the raven, until last year it came to my chamber and sat on Pallas' bust outside my window. In flight it looked majestic, those black wings stretched far across the sky, shimmering a neon green. I wasn't sure if this was a real bird or whether it was Huginn or Muninn come to tell the raven-god of tales. Venus pierced the night sky like a neutron explosion in a thimble, a heron flew over and winter cast its shroud of bleak beauty. I used to hate the winter, I used to hate the caw of the corvis, I never knew the beauty of the broken winged window dweller.

And now Nevermore is nevermore, no more rapping on my chamber door, no majestic flight in the misty winter's sky. And revisiting it in my mind only brings with it the pain of its absence. But who knows, who knows? Perhaps the bird has returned to Odin to tell tale of what it saw, and one day it might return to soar over my chamber once more.

I saw them flock around the castle gates, I saw them dance and chatter and laugh. Are they omens, are they pagan god's messengers, or are they just obsidian scavengers? If I told you he was mine at night, if I told you ours was the cold, winter's sky, and the snow, and the wind, and the roaring coal fire inside, could I ever go back?

Never will I turn back the seasons, never can I call him back to me, never will Poe or Dylan write another line for me to reference when he's not there. One eyed hanged man bring him back to me, put on your woman's garb and cast your powerful spell, or heal that which is broken and dry up the rivers that flow still.