An unedited short story - The Dove and the Raven

 “What the hell are you doing? Are you mad?” A man cried out as he broke through the crowd in the center square. In the center of the crowd, and at the center of the hatred harbored in this village of only a hundred men and women, was the priest.

“Mad?” He shouted with contempt. “She's got the wings of an angel!” The man was incredulous.

“If she's got the wings of an angel, why are you trying to kill her?” Tied to a stump, her wings stretched out behind her, was a beautiful young woman with pale strawberry blonde hair, and pale lightly freckled skin. Her face was a mixture of horror, and agony. Her back was to the wide stump, her hands pulled behind her and tied, but her wings were tied together, and stretched out over the stump. The sheriff had an ax.

“Fallen angels were kicked out of heaven! Which means she is out of God's favor! He would want us to punish this demon for her treachery!” The crowd wanted blood, and he would make sure they got it.

“Vengeance is mine!” The man quoted from scripture easily, as he knew that it was only the scriptures that might save this young woman. Her beauty pained him.

“You dare?” The priest exclaimed.

“You would destroy such a beautiful creation, made by the Almighty, just because she is different? He tells us that He will take vengeance! Not us!” Unfortunately, he was too late in using scriptures. They were beyond caring what God wanted. They didn't want to be reminded of their own sins by her angelic beauty. That beauty was worse then her wings as it enraged more plain looking women, and brought more lustful emotions from the men. The priest considered her to be from the devil as she stirred such emotions even in him, a pious man of the cloth.

“He has fallen under her spell! Bind him!” The crowd surged forward, and he knew it was far too late to save these miserable wretches from themselves. He looked at the young woman, who looked up at him in absolute horror.

“I'm so sorry.” He said. She watched as they tied him, ripped out his eyes so he couldn't see her, and cut out his tongue so he could no longer accuse them. They left his ears intact. The priest wanted him to hear what happened next.

“Momma? Did that really happen?” She nodded. “But why are your skin and feathers black, while mine and my sisters are white?” She looked up at her husband of many years, and though he could not see the effect of that day, he felt it every night since.

“They did that to us, yes. Don't worry. Your father and I have had many happy years since then.” She put the small child on her lap, and gently tucked her wings behind her. “You have to learn to hold them close to your back, baby. Let no one see them.” The girl smiled up at her mother, and slipped from her lap. She half ran, half flew over to her father, and jumped up into his lap.

“Ha ha!” He said, though his laugh sounded hollow. “Bee gooog. Lissen ta momma Dove.” He had learned to manipulate the sounds to talk, at least a little. She kissed his chin and snuggled in close, his arms closing about his little girl. Her mother smiled.

“Momma? Why?” She sighed sadly.

“Your father heard the pain of my wings being taken, but that is not what turned my feathers black. It was what they did to him! They watched! They delighted in my pain, in his pain! They were filled with hatred, and that hatred stained me.” The girl walked over to her mother, and gently caressed her fingers.

“Is that why you have....”

“Talons? Yes, baby. That's also why you do not. You are not stained, and neither are your sisters. Their pure white wings are not stained with hatred, but made with love. Our love.” The girl smiled up at her, and darted back to her father.

“You're just like your sisters. We trained them well, and they still fly freely.” She closed her eyes as a memory of how the wind felt when it ruffled her feathers long ago. “Bedtime, little one. Your father and I want some alone time.” She giggled.

“Alone time means a new sister!” Her mother hushed her and took her hand. She tucked her in her favorite soft blanket, and returned to her husband's side. He patted her midsection lovingly, then lifted his hand to caress her cheek.

“Sooo my tine. Old.” She nodded sadly, and was almost glad he could not see her stained skin, and blackened feathers. “Dove.” She shook her head.

“Please. Don't say it. Just love me until...” He sighed sadly, and she guided him to their bed, a soft blanket lined nest he had learned to enjoy sleeping in, as long as she was curled up beside him. They raised many children in this nest, and it was soon time for him to leave her alone.

“Don't leave them until they are grown.” She nodded. He knew she would leave this world not long after he did. He pulled her close and ignored the stumps of her severed wings sticking into his chest. He would always love her, no matter how scarred, as long as he lived.

Even in the happiest moments of her life, the darkness that would soon claim him always loomed ahead of her. Though she had several daughters that still roamed the skies, it would not feel right to keep living without her reason to live.

She was no longer the dove, innocent from her youth, and happily flying on the currents, out of reach of the hate filled humans below.

Her blackened feathers, severed wings, and claws were the last things many villagers saw that day as she tore the life from their bodies. All who were guilty of the crimes against them. And their epithet of “Raven” still haunted her ears.

She lifted her eyes, and listened to the wind outside. A familiar sound filled her ears.

“Do you hear them, my love?” She asked softly. She felt his arm tighten over her belly. “Our daughters are coming home.” The steady beating of the air with large agile wings filled the attic of their mountain home. His arm tightened one more time, then fell still. Her tears started to fall.

“They are coming to take us to the skies, my love. To take us home.”

(This story is unedited, and loosely inspired by Nightwish's video Amaranth)