I got dressed and for the next few hours of the morning, sat around the house. I leafed through a few books and sat around in relative silence. The boredom began setting in around noon.

I needed something to do. I wanted to sketch. But I had nothing to sketch with.

Something from my old artist training came back to me. I went outside and found a stick, then I snapped it into smaller pieces. Then I found a knife and shaved the excess bark off until a small pile of wood strips lay on the floor. I then bound the sticks with a small rope, then lit a small fire in the hearth. I placed the bundle of sticks into the fire and waited. According to my teacher, twenty minutes were needed for the sticks to “cook”. The smell of burning wood soon filled the room. Pops and sizzling followed, the excess moisture escaping the material being the source of the sound according to my teacher. Soon the sticks were black as ink without a trace of bark on them. I picked the bundle out of the fire with a pair of tongs and set them aside in a bowl.

My next objective was paper. I searched around and found a book with yellowed blank pages. Someone must’ve picked up and forgotten about it. What luck for me to have found it, then.

I lightly touched the bundle of sticks. They were now cool. I took one from the bunch and gently pressed it against the paper, then harder. The markers were clean and even. Perfect.

I left the house and walked down the street, searching for a vantage point. My artistic eye was reignited. I found a small bench in the square with a great view of everything and began to draw.

See the world. That was something my teachers always told me. Learning to paint is learning to see. See things as they are, not as you think you see them.

And what about people? I asked to the memory. What about myself?

Everyone is of two parts. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has flaws. But our mistakes and flaws aren’t all we are. Plenty of paintings have had their mistakes painted over and no one is the wiser.

My charcoal lines captured the raven statue in the square. As much as I try, I still can’t stop thinking about her. The betrayal still hurts.

If it still hurts, then what you had meant something to you. It meant something to her.

I heard Faustine’s sobs on the winter wind again. I know she didn’t mean any harm. She was hurting inside.

Weren’t you as well?

I put down my stick and took a deep breath. I knew the answer too well. It still clung to the back of my mind despite my attempts to ignore it. My actions were my own, and I knew why I did it.

But they forgave you. After everything you think you did, they forgave you. Is it so hard to extend that to yourself?

What if I do it again? What if it’s something worse next time?

But I already knew the answer to that too.

By the time I finished sketching the town square, the sun was already low in the sky. Orange flickering lights from inside windows and lit lamps around town told me I needed to return home.

The family was sitting down to dinner as I got it. I took my seat beside August, who smiled at me. I smiled back.

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I felt something like peace settle over me as we ate together. I no longer felt like I had to apologize for anything now.

When I retired to bed, I picked up Doux and hugged him close to my chest. He licked and tickled my chin with his whiskers in response. He laid on a pillow beside me and was fast asleep in a furry ball within minutes. I stroked his back before rolling over and shutting my eyes.

A chorus of crickets sings in the dark. Winter’s cold bites my cheeks. My boots crunch against the snow. There are no stars above.

Then, a faint point of blue light shines in the darkness. I follow it like a sailor lost in a storm.

As I get closer, I see the light coming from a small gap between stones uncovered by snow. The light’s illumination washes everything in its pale glow. I look up to see the hooked beak of a stone raven staring down at me with blank polished eyes. Its perch atop a giant stone platform tells me that I’m in the town square.

I move closer to the glowing gap in the stones.

I finally find the source of the light: A single blue rose that is shooting up from between the stones. My eyes light up.

I clutch the stem and gently pull the flower from its perch. I stare into its azure folds, utterly mesmerized by its beauty. I almost imagine its petals spinning like shards of light, its power hypnotizing me. The light seems to be coming from every part of the flower. A ring of fluttering light casts me in a pool of blue.

I look up from the hypnotic rose to see the statue and the town square gone. I quickly look around for anything. Again, I am surrounded by darkness and ankle-deep in snow.

Then I see something in the distance. I squint my eyes. Another blue light, this one much more intense, shines through tangled tree branches. Holding the rose close, I walk through the snow and pass through a large set of gates covered by ice. I came upon a large courtyard with a large lamp at its center. The lamp blazes with a bright blue flame.

I swallow hard. I know this place too well. But something is wrong. I feel something else is here.

I walk up the steps of the main entrance. In the snow in front of the large doors is a raven about the size of a housecat. It pecks at something on the ground before my footsteps prompt it to look up. It stares at me with beady eyes and bobs its head.

“Marius.” It says in an eerily human voice. The bird cocks its head and hops closer. “Marius.”

“What?” I step closer.

“Marius.” It says again.

The doors burst open. An angry wind blasts through me off my feet. I nearly stumble down the stairs. When I regain my senses, I’m staring through the open doors.

It is an endless abyss of darkness.

I see something moving in the darkness. I squint.

A pair of glowing eyes is rushing toward me. A screeching howl peals through the air.

I scrabble back in panic. The raven simply sits and stares at me, seemingly unaware of the unnamable horror bearing down upon it.

“Beware.” It croaks.

A large hand made of writhing darkness emerges from the open door. I watch helplessly as it rises high into the air.

I hold the rose close and squeeze my eyes shut as I prepare for the inevitable conclusion.

I shot up in bed. My brow was sweating. My heart hammered against my chest.

I looked around my room. The faint light of morning illuminated my surroundings. Just a dream, I told myself. I’m here. This is all real. I’m here.

Doux was fast asleep on his little pillow throne. I sighed in relief and stroked him. He rolled over but otherwise remained asleep.

I was about to go back to bed when I felt something in my hand. Whatever it was felt cold and wet to the touch.

A faint blue glow was emanating from beneath the covers.

My blood froze. There was no possible way.

The blue rose from my dream sat tucked safely in my hands. I stared at it in disbelief. Its petals were just as mesmerizing as in my dream.

I suddenly shivered. A chill raked through my bones. I realized I could see my breath.

Instinctively, I rolled out of bed and went to the window. I wiped away condensation and peeked out into the main square.

A quiet flurry of snowflakes was descending from the sky. Small white piles of powder were already collecting on the roofs and street corners. Occasional blasts of wind sent the snow scattering into the air.

The raven statue stood sternly in the town square almost in deference to its duty as a messenger to the strangeness which now befell Amersot.