He gave a soft trill of approval and took flight, a streak of ink against the paling sky. I followed the winding gravel path toward the gardens, my skirts brushing against dew-pearled hedges. Unease still clung to me, but I told myself I only needed air, that perhaps Sylum was right. I just needed something simple, something ordinary to quiet my restless thoughts.
Poe darted from hedge to hedge, his low chatter echoing softly through the maze. I followed, watching himfly above as I walked deeper into the garden. For a time, it was peaceful. The late sun bled gold over the moors, tinting the edges of the world in light. I breathed deeply, closing my eyes to the warmth.
When I opened them again, the world had changed. I hadn’t realized how long we’d been walking until the light started to fade.
The sun had slipped behind the trees, and the gardens lay steeped in shadow. The air turned chill. The wind whispered faintly through the hedges, carrying the distant cry of crows.
I sighed, glancing at the sky’s deepening violet. “We’d best go back, Poe.”
He circled above me once, twice, then croaked low and strange.
“One bone, two shadows. Two shadows, one bone.”
I frowned up at him. “Afraid I don’t know that poem, Poe,” I murmured, my voice light, teasing, though a faint ripple of nervousness moved through me. I’d heard him say those words before, but it wasn’t until that very moment that I realized it wasn’t a line from a poem or story that I knew of.
He wheeled lower, wings flashing in the dim light.
“And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s. That is dreaming!” he cried.
I laughed softly, trying to steady the odd thrum in my chest. “Ah yes, that I do know,” I called, raising my voice as I recited with theatrical flair:
‘And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor—’
But Poe’s next words froze me.
“It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—”
My steps faltered. I looked up at him, his black shape cutting across the dusky sky. “That’s not the next line, Poe,” I said, frowning uncertainly.
The two verses tangled in my mind—a warning that made no sense, yet filled my heart with a terrible knowing.
The wind shifted, sharp and cold, and the rustling hedges sounded almost like laughter.
I turned, quickening my pace, the gravel crunching beneath my slippers. The maze seemed… changed. The turns were unfamiliar now, the hedges seemed higher, thicker, their shapes distorted by the dying light.
My pulse began to race.
“Poe?” I called, craning my neck to see him. He circled overhead, his cries now harsher, frenzied in a way that chilled the blood in my veins.
“A blood-red thing that writhes from out the scenic solitude!”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Poe, stop it!” I snapped, but he only shrieked again, his voice rolling through the garden like thunder.
A shadow moved at the corner of my vision. I turned sharply, but there was nothing. Then behind me, the soft lilting sound of laughter echoed in the distance.
I began to run.
Branches caught at my gown, thorns nipped at my wrists as I stumbled through the twisting paths. “Which way?” I cried up to Poe, my breath ragged.
He swooped low, his voice mournful now. “Oh, my Lenore…”
“Poe, please!” I begged, chasing his flight through the darkness.
The moon broke through the clouds, spilling pale light over the hedges. I followed it desperately, only to trip over an uneven patch of stone. My knees struck the cold earth.
Footsteps behind me followed my own, slow and deliberate.
I turned. No one. Only the soft sway of leaves.
