Darker Than Crows

• Natasha Wharton, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2016

They swirled around like wisps of shadows on a windblown day. Their sleek black feathers caught the sunlight that glinted through the city smog, reflecting a shimmering green. Crows were truly beautiful creatures, she thought. However, their beauty was irrelevant now. Anything good, anything light – it didn’t matter to Hecate.
The mangled corpse, sprayed out across the pavement like a smashed vase, filled the air with a dank stench.
Corpse. It was such a disgusting word. So harsh, so final. If you were labelled a corpse, then you were never coming back.
Just like she was never coming back.
You wouldn’t realise that the clumps of flesh strewn over the ground, seeping out pools of red, had once been the most beautiful angel ever seen. The thick horror of loss clogged Hecate’s lungs, her mind.
She couldn’t even cry.
The powerful birds began to circle downwards, eager eyes glinting with the prospect of an easy meal. Hecate couldn’t bear the thought of her love being reduced to nothing but crow feed – but she couldn’t bring herself to move and shoo the creatures away. She fell to her knees. She desperately wished for release from the choking sorrow that consumed her. Her fingers were stiff, trembling with shock, and her mouth was open in a silent scream, eyes wide.
Why couldn’t she just cry?
Laying before her was the only recognisable piece of her love left – a hand. It was rigid, with crimson stains splattered onto the white canvas of its skin. It was curled as though its last act had been reaching for a partner to intertwine with. Hecate wanted to be that partner, but bile pushed up in her throat at the thought of touching the dead flesh. They will pay, She thought. They will pay for what they did to you.
Hecate finally managed to let loose a high-pitched cry. It was so raw, so pitiful, even the crows seemed mournful.
She needed to leave.
With a burst of shadows, wings so dark they made the crows seem pale unfurled from Hecate’s back. She let out a gasp of pain. Manifesting her semblance had never hurt before, but now it caused a harsh, ripping pain to stab through her shoulder blades.
Sweeping her wings back and forth, Hecate’s eyes widened in shock. They used to be translucent, like most angel’s semblances, but now they were shaped voids growing from her back. Through her muddled mind, Hecate began to piece together what had happened. She’d heard rare accounts of semblances changing, due to sudden trauma or change.
Grief stricken and overcome with anger, Hecate had transformed. A new woman took her place, one that made the crows caw in fear as she leaped into the grey sky.
Her wings carried her far away from the horrific scene. The wind bit with icy teeth, however Hecate felt nothing. Revenge consumed her thoughts.
With new wings darker than crows, a demon flew through the dawn; a broken woman out for blood.