The echoes of heartbeats stir the raven. His black beak pulls at the gauze fabric covering the hand upon which he perches. Like many others before, the raven looks for clues her majesty is still alive.
Vanessa, queen of her nothingness, poses as a still life of self-induced rigidity. She knows of her great artistic skills. The void of her unfilled tales has crafted the masterpiece of loneliness. Not for lack of trying, but for lack of worthy finds.
“Begone! You vile clutch of feathers and carrion!” Vanessa moves her raised arm away from the raven. “A perch! You use me like they all do!”