They told me, “Don’t go near that field. A murder of never-dying crows flies above it, and their presence brings great misfortune.”
I didn’t want to listen, so I didn’t, which is why I found myself in the wheatfield on a cloudy summer day, surrounded by the otherworldly birds, their screeching deafening, their flight impossibly fast… and nothing happened. Disappointed, I spent a couple of hours roaming the field, sketching some of the birds and painting the scenery.
Once I came home, I was charged with comforting my sister, whose pet rat had died, and then burying the poor animal. I didn’t succeed with the second task as the rodent came back to life after spending a few moments in my hands.
The Mage Overseers aren’t tolerant to necromancers, so I stay away from the capital, traveling through villages and wild lands, helping those I can. At other times, my magic goes insane.
More often than not, I find myself in similar fields (sans the deathly birds), reviewing the artworks I made that fateful day. The birds disappeared from them, leaving white sketch paper and an empty acrylic sky.
Their darkness chose to creep into my soul, it seems.
Van Gogh is too inspiring. No, seriously. I’m sorry. (I’ll try not to write a third one).
All comments are welcome!