museofrainydays: (made by tmg_icons (LJ))
Her parents had named her Sarah Lynn, but she called herself Crow, and after a while, so did everyone else. She always wore dark stockings under men’s steel-toed workboots (size six and a half, hard to find), and she owned one black wool peacoat, which she wore in all kinds of weather. Her hair, which was dark brown, never stayed down but stuck up in all kinds of unruly spikes around her pointed little face.

She raised crows. She had found the first pair fallen from a nest by the highway and rescued them. They imprinted on her and even after they grew up they followed her everywhere she went, like two guardian angels, or maybe the familiars of a witch.

Dozens more followed the first two, and she became known as the local eccentric. Her crows were clever. People said they stole for her and made her rich. It was widely known that she never worked. Some of the local children even whispered stories about little boys that wandered into her yard and were never seen again, either made into food for her precious birds or turned into birds themselves.

She liked little girls, they said. Sometimes she gave them gifts, like some kind of hipster faerie in thrift-store clothing. I still have the necklace she gave me when I was six; braided sinew strung with beads of bone and sleek, inky feathers.


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October 2012

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