call me sleeper

@Sylvie
collecting/hoarding

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The mountains lingered ominously in the distance, outlined by the hollow glow of a half-moon. The warmth of the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, leading into an ominous and expansive blackness that fell across the desolate and foreign land. Jagged fangs of four fearsome mountains were outlined in a deep navy; their very presence was demanding. Encompassing. Entrancing. Perhaps that was why she'd traveled so far north ...

... after sneaking out of bed with Valeska, unable to sleep and instead venturing off to ... well, she wasn't exactly sure. Wander, perhaps. Or collect. Or recoil away from emotions and feelings that had become rather bothersome and pesky lately. What, with a child in their grounds and Vikings threatening their beds?

Purple eyes hardened, gaze turning toward the sparsity of the dying trees. Their canopy was dilapidated at best, offering little in the way of shelter or camouflage. But Amaranth did not seek to hide, no, instead she trapezed very willingly in the light of the pale moon ... her golden fur outlined in soft silver fire.

The marionette of her body slowed, pulled to a steady halt by the puppeteer that was her exhausted mind. She pulled up beside the cracking base of a creaking tree, eyes glancing down toward a random assortment of black feathers. There were strikes and scuffle marks in the ground, as if ... perhaps ... a smaller critter had caught itself a meal and left nothing but the hints of its prey behind.

'Pity,' she thought with bitter irony, a Cheshire grin coiling on dark lips.

Amaranth would collect the feathers, for somehow, she was always running low on her precious supply. She'd bring them hope and drape them over herself and her lover in a soft, ebony blanket made of the cacophonous cries of the ravens.

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The sleepless visitor did not go unnoticed.

Two small, gem-like eyes pierced through the dim twilight, the sound of rustling feathers and crunching leaves stirring their owner from her fitful rest. She had little memory since her awakening in this terrible place, sprawling endlessly into less and less familiar lands until she felt at last that she was truly alone - all the child knew was that she had fallen from her home-nest during a great storm. Night had suddenly turned to day, and her sapphire eyes had opened into a wild, untamed wilderness full of prowling predators and unpredictable weather.

And she was dreadfully, fearfully alone.

Shivering and still unable to fly, having been on her own for so long and with no one to teach her, she hopped miserably along the ground and scavenged what food she could with the limited ground she could cover. The idea of flight seemed so far away, so long ago; was she ever meant to soar the skies, or was she cursed to crawl upon the earth as the savage beasts did?

Yet the stranger caught her eye.

She was tall - infinitely tall compared to the young raven - and had an odd shape about her, not quite fitting the fuzzy memory of her parents, yet she was undeniably covered in the iridescent black feathers of her kin. An adult of her species, she surmised; and judging from the sweet smell, a female. An adult female.

A mother.

The little raven emerged from her hiding-place betwixt the cracks of the great tree, popping out first her head, and then the rest of her round, scruffy body, feathers askew and eyes wide.

“Birb!”

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feathers and collecting children.

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The earth was soft against her nose. The soft autumn breeze graced her and coiled between her feathered fur. That ebony nose shuffled betwixt the grime to find the treasure of lost raven fangs, ermine fangs gently seeking to collect that iridescent prize gently within her practiced grip. She was gentle, cautious, and completely distracted until ...

... the tree suddenly came to life with a great, squawking heave. The roots seemed to chutter, vibrating to life as a small, puffy body emerged from the crevices of the trunk. "Birb!" it seemed to screech. It was a sound that should have set her on edge, should have caused her to shirk away with instinctual horror of that inevitable 'evermore' ... and yet, her defenses were lowered. Softened. Her gentle gaze fell upon the feathered beast, that which seemed to blossom forth from the disembodied figures of those before it.



It was a raven zombie. Borne of decay. Uneven. Unkempt.
But how was it so ...

... adorable.

Amaranth paused a moment, her mouth full of feathers that slowly fell from between teeth that were parted open by some level of bemusement and shock. "Birb," she repeated absentmindedly, gaze glimmering with amazement. "Have you lost your way, little one?" There was a genuine softness there, marred by the casual level of new possession she felt.

She did not realize that the feathers that she'd collected in her mouth and on her fur would have confused the poor infant. But that did not matter to Amaranth now, no ... no, no no. This raven zombie child. It was hers now. And for a moment, she thought to look to the sky, to see if an adult raven would come to collect their cache ... but her eyes would not be drawn away from the flightless child.

'Don't worry, I shall protect you.'

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Amaranth did not know the inner machinations of the pitiful creature, yet if she did, it remained to be seen if it would impact her choices.

With the great, awe-stricken eyes of a child seeing an angel come to life before them at Christmas, she dared hop one tremulous inch closer, fearing that if she touched the great raven before her it would cause her to vanish into thin air. Yet the woman stayed, feathers trailing softly to the ground from her peculiar beak - more like a maw - as she gazed back levelly in return, her amethyst eyes drawing ever closer and threatening to devour the bird where she stood in their limpid depths.

“Wost. I have been wost for weeks, and so hungwy,” came the babylike voice of the raven, who by all means ought to have better speech by now (developmentally speaking), but her time spent alone had stunted much of her progress. “Does mama have food?”

It spilled out so naturally, she only stopped to think about it after it had already been spoken.

“You are... mama?”

The question didn't sound like a request so much as it sounded like an uncertain expectation, having already hopped another few strides closer to the great claws of her kin. Surely this was an elder of her species, the biggest and most wizened of her kind; it explained her strange, bestial features and wreath of ever-falling feathers that cloaked her person. Yet how unfortunate! In her old age, she had begun the Great Molt, as evidenced by the sparse distribution of her flight feathers. Perhaps even she had lost her ability to soar up high already, and that only solidified her impression that they were meant to encounter each other in this terrible place.

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collecting the child

---

The star-stricken thing hopped ever closer to Amaranth's open jaws. It was almost as if the fledgling knew not that Amaranth was but a starved predator, emaciated in this world of made of physical and emotional disparity. And Amaranth watched her, eyes as awe-stricken as the babe's, but far more hidden behind that ethereal mystery of her lavender gaze. Hungry fangs quieted, the feathers all but drifted away in the exhaling breeze of autumn's breath. And Amaranth would welcome the child closer, luring her in with the sweet, cacophonous allure of a siren.

“Wost. I have been wost for weeks, and so hungwy,” the child pained, voice croaking harmoniously into the moonlit breeze. Amara's heart would ache, brows and gaze softening gently upon the fragile zombie-child. “Does mama have food?” Amaranth tensed, her muscles invisibly taught beneath her golden pelt. There was a pause before ... “You are... mama?”

It was not ... so incredulous ... was it?

For Amaranth was a Flesh-Eater. And she was a Raven-Mother, no? She garbed herself in their cloak, after all. And she was, since the beginning of her time in this world, undead. A zombie. A vampire. A guide to a star-child ... and now ... a true mother.

"Yes, my little one," she cooed, instinctively putting her nose forward to press gently into the raven's bosom. The sweet scent of dust mixed with her innocent, infant smell. Like the smell of baby's breath. "I am your mother. And you are ..." she paused a moment, pulling her nose back a couple of inches so that those purple gems met with the underdeveloped blue of the other species. This child of hers, borne of darkness and feather decay. "You are my daughter. My Sylvie." There was a softness to her voice ... a softness laced with promise and threat. This was her child now. Her forest nymph. Her Sylvie.

"What do you hunger for?" Amaranth's head tilted slightly in inquisition.

What did zombie babies eat, anyway?

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The large, pebbled-leather nose of her elder swung dangerously close, and any normal fledgling would have turned in fear - yet the little bird stayed, wholly absorbed in admiration for this great mother that had materialized before her. She remained utterly unblinking as the damp warmth of Amaranth's nostrils pressed gently into her fragile chest, ruffling her already-wrinkled feathers and eliciting a small, pleased giggle. What was this feeling?

Is this what it felt like to be loved? It had felt like an eternity. She could hardly remember her true parents.

"I am your mother."

The raven was completely enraptured. This was her savior. Her Mother.

"And you are my daughter."

Fat tears threatened the corners of her twinkling eyes, her delicate feathered breast heaving rapidly as she choked back a hiccup. She sniffled, an odd sound coming from a beak.

"My Sylvie."

The dark possessiveness of Amaranth's tone either fell on deaf ears or was otherwise embraced with open wings, for Sylvie was a creature who desired more than anything to be cared for - nurtured - possessed, in the way a mother would stand guard over her own offspring and ward off all the evils of the world. Big, shining globs of wetness rolled from her tiny cheeks and spilled onto the earth, collecting in a little pool around her talons. She had a name. A name. Maybe she had had a name before, but this one was hers, now, in this new place; this dangerous expanse she had fallen into.

“Mama,” she breathed, and in a sudden burst of energy, scuttled forward in a blur of flapping feathers and outstretched legs to clamber onto her mother's talons (paw) and scramble haphazardly up the height of her leg until she rested, round and pleased and puffed-up, atop her beautiful golden head.

“I dunno. It's been a wong time since I had wizard. Or mouse. Or fwog. Want meat. Meat is so fast!” she complained sleepily, nestling in just a little bit more comfortably into the crown of her bestial parent. “Mmmm. I'm Sywvie. Does mama have a name?”

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"Mama," the creature breathed, relief and recognition filling her very avian eyes with wallowing tears. Amaranth had no idea ravens could cry. In fact, she hadn't known they could speak either, or that she could birth one forth from the very crevices of her convoluted imagination. But here they were.

She'd never imagined that she'd adopt an adorable- raven-zombie-baby.

She couldn't wait to tell Valeska the wonderful news.

It was then that the child maneuvered forward, clambering with beak and talon up Amaranth's long limbs. The soft pinches sent sparks of electricity crawling along her skin, and her pupils dilated for a moment as she remembered the soft tang of fangs against her ... it was a welcomed familiarity. The puff settled gently then, betwixt the gentle nest of golden furs and bedraggled raven's feathers that crowned her slender nape. The warmth of her small body permeated into Amaranth, intoxicating as it sent radiating pangs of numbing venom through her. A soft smile crawled up the edges of her lips, an invisible flicker of fangs glistening against the snowy moonlight.

"Does mama have a name?" The child asked a valid question, and she was almost so rude as to forget to introduce herself (being that she was so high on this lie that she told both herself and the bird). "Of course I do, my love," she purred, careful not to move her head too quickly as to set the smaller being off balance. "Amaranth." The word left her lips in a cooing whisper, slipping from betwixt smiling fangs. Ears flicked, alternating in movement as they gently patted the bird crested between them. "Sylvie, how about we get you a little snack, hmm?" Golden crown lifted, holding the infant high and basking her in the light of the moon above them as if silently displaying her prize to the invisible spirits-that-be.

"Hold tight, Sylvie," she mentioned lightly, lowering her head for a moment to collect a mouthful of feathers from the ground before pivoting her stilt-like frame and drifting off into the silence of the evening ... back toward Elysium. To her wife, to her home ... and to get her new baby a snack.

Maybe she'd need Valeska's help sooner rather than later.

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Exits ~

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