What the Raven Carried

They say Apollo loved once, and loved too fiercely. He loved a woman who did not belong to him, and when she chose another, the god mistook her freedom for betrayal. In his rage, he struck down her mortal lover, scorching the truth into the earth so it could not be denied. The raven was the one who delivered the message. For this, Apollo punished her—dyeing her feathers black so she would never again be mistaken for innocence. From that day forward, the raven was shunned, feared, blamed for death and disaster alike. Wherever she appeared, people whispered of endings. What the legend rarely tells is what followed. Apollo, having destroyed all he cherished, found no comfort in his victory. Music hollowed. Light burned. Prophecy became unbearable. Unable to endure the weight of his own divinity, he cast himself down from the heavens, choosing mortality as penance. The raven was said to vanish then. Some claim she flew away. Others say she was finally free. But there are those who believe she followed him still— not as a bird, but as something far more fragile. A sharp caw cuts through the morning. Rayvn snaps awake, heart racing, lungs burning, her body still caught in the echo of a dream she cannot hold onto. There had been laughter—warmth—someone clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping them upright. Then pain: sudden, searing, metallic, tearing through her from the inside out. She turns her face away from the light spilling through the curtain, sweat cooling along her ribs as the world slowly steadies itself. The fragments vanish as they always do, slipping out of reach before she can make sense of them. “What a lovely way to start my day,” she mutters. Groaning and rubbing away the night’s terror, Rayvn turns to her clock and realizes it’s way earlier than she expected. She jerks up and decides, in one quick motion, to forget about it and wake up for the day. After all, she had things to do. Stumbling out of bed, she catches herself and steadies her balance as she makes her way to the bathroom. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror before turning on the shower. Scrutinizing her long legs and athletic build, she hops in and lets herself daydream while she washes her hair. She gets ready for the day—changing clothes, putting on makeup. As she ventures out, she starts by shopping for family, since the holidays are only a couple of weeks away. Not having much family left alive, she comes across something that reminds her of her sister and decides to visit her grave on the way home, before meeting up with friends. Rayvn is at the cemetery, thinking about her sister Elena, remembering all the times they shared when they were younger. The pull to see her is almost unbearable. She walks up to the grave and stands there, engulfed in the quiet sadness of losing her twin too soon. It feels like she lost a piece of herself when Elena passed—something she’s been searching for ever since. Minutes pass before she collects herself. She tells her sister it was nice to see her again, that she’ll come back soon. When she turns, she notices a man a few feet away, kneeling at a grave of his own, his breath giving way to the cold air. She sees the pain in his face, the way he’s holding himself together, something tight and almost angry beneath the surface—though she could be wrong. He glances up, and a tear slips past his lashes onto the cold stone. He blinks it away when his eyes lift again, meeting Rayvn’s. Before she realizes it, she’s inched closer. His raw display of emotion stirs something unfamiliar in her, and all she can think about is wrapping him in a hug, telling him everything will be okay. For Rayvn—someone who always keeps people at a distance—this feeling is new. Their gazes hold. For a moment, there is something—heated, chaotic—before it fades into recognition. They smile at each other, and realization hits. Rayvn suddenly becomes aware of herself, of how close she is, and decides she’s being a little creepy. She turns to leave, heading toward her car walking a little too fast away from the encounter. Still dazed, she keeps thinking about the stranger in the graveyard. She can’t shake the feeling that they’ve met before—but that’s impossible, right? It would be hard to forget a face like that. No, not just a face. A man like that. He was… well. Gorgeous. The thought of him lingers like fog, following her all the way to the bar. She barely realizes she’s arrived until she’s already walking up to it, Rayvn jumps as a familiar voice cuts through her thoughts. She spins around to see Emma and Jess standing behind her, hands intertwined, outfits intentionally coordinated, smiles already in place. “Nice color coordination, ladies,” Rayvn says dryly. “Could you two be any more gay?” Jess grins. “Is that a challenge? Because—” Rayvn cuts her off by pulling her into a hug, laughter muffled against Jess’s shoulder. She hugs Emma just as tightly, grounding herself in the familiar—faces, hair, warmth. Affection doesn’t come easily to her, but the encounter at the cemetery left her shaken in a way she can’t quite name. They’ve been friends since high school. Long enough that explanations aren’t necessary. “Alright, lovebirds,” Emma says. “I want to get inside. I’m starving.” Jess shoots her a look, and Rayvn snorts as they move into the bar and slide into a booth near the counter. As soon as she sits, a dull ache settles at the base of her skull. “Okay,” Emma says, scanning the menu. “Three shots of tequila and some appetizers. We’re starting this weekend right.” Jess groans. “Am I going to have to carry your ass home?” “Maybe,” Emma says. “I just need to forget today. Work was a nightmare.” They talk about the struggles with work, and how they could use a break, when Emma cuts in- "So, Ray," she says " How about I set you up on a blind date?" "What? Em we've talked about this already, I'm just not ready to be in a relationship." Rayvn states. "Oh, come on Ray you haven't dated anyone since you know…Elena." Jesse retorts Rayvn's eyes flicker up just as she is about to finish the conversation. "I sa-" The waitress arrives with their drinks, the heat from the plates briefly cutting through the tension. They shift their focus to food, conversation drifting to safer ground. The ache at Rayvn’s neck fades. Then— “Raven.” Her name, spoken low and unfamiliar, sends a chill straight through her. Rayvn’s head snaps up. Across the bar, he’s watching her—sitting exactly where she hadn’t noticed him before. The man from the cemetery. He doesn’t look away when their eyes meet. His expression softens into something unreadable, almost relieved. He smiles. Her heart stutters. Nothing about this makes sense—and yet something deep inside her settles, as if recognizing a pattern it doesn’t remember learning.