The carriage wheels groaned against the gravel road as the forest pressed in on either side. Tall, skeletal trees clawed at the misty sky, their branches curling like withered fingers. The girl inside the carriage watched the world slide past with a calm that felt more like resignation than peace.
Her name was Elara Veyne, though in the city people had whispered another name: The Raven's Daughter.
No one could tell her who had first started it, but the name had followed her from the schoolyard to the crowded streets, and eventually to the courthouse steps when her mother's will was read aloud. It clung to her like smoke. She did not correct them anymore.
Tonight, she was returning to the place where the name had begun.
The estate loomed ahead through the thinning trees: Veyne Manor, tall and jagged, its black windows staring down like empty sockets. The moon hovered behind its spires, painting the place in cold silver light. For an instant, Elara thought she saw the outline of a raven on the tallest gable, wings spread wide, though it vanished when she blinked.
The driver slowed, clearly unsettled. His eyes kept darting toward the shadows, as though he expected something to step out from the treeline.
"You'll be staying here alone, miss?" he asked, his voice thin.
"Yes," Elara answered.
"You've heard the stories, haven't you?"
She smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. "Stories are all this place ever leaves behind."
When the carriage finally rattled to a stop before the iron gates, Elara stepped out. The night air bit at her skin, and the silence was so heavy it felt alive. Somewhere far off, the first croak of a raven cracked the air like broken glass.
She turned her head toward the sound. One black shape detached itself from a branch and flew across the moon. Another followed. Then another. By the time she reached the gates, a whole flock had gathered on the roofline, watching her with glassy, patient eyes.
The housekeeper met her at the doors — Agnes, a gaunt woman with eyes like stones sunk too deep in her face. She curtseyed stiffly.
"Miss Veyne. We've prepared your rooms. Your mother's chambers have been left locked, per the instructions."
"My mother has been dead for months," Elara replied softly. "Her instructions hardly matter anymore."
Agnes's mouth twitched, but she said nothing. She led Elara through echoing halls lined with portraits, each face severe, each gaze following her as though waiting for her to falter. Dust floated in the air, glowing faintly in the candlelight.
In one corner of the main hall, a glass display case housed a set of taxidermy ravens, wings spread wide as if frozen mid-flight. Their beady eyes glinted when Elara passed.
Her hand brushed the case. For an instant she thought she felt the glass vibrate, a low hum beneath her fingertips, though when she pulled back, it was silent again.
Her new chamber was large but unwelcoming, its walls draped in heavy burgundy fabric, its fireplace cold and dark. Agnes set the candle on the bedside table and withdrew without another word.
Elara sat on the bed, staring at the floorboards. The silence pressed in again. She knew she should be exhausted, but instead her thoughts circled endlessly.
They circled back to her mother.
Her mother had always been a strange woman; severe, sharp-tongued, but never ordinary. She had kept secrets like treasures, and the house had pulsed with them, hidden behind locked doors and whispers cut off mid-sentence. Elara had grown up among them, feeling the weight of knowledge withheld.
And then there was the raven.
It had followed her since childhood sometimes one, sometimes many. Perched outside her school window, on the roof of the orphanage, even on the lamppost the night of the funeral. Always watching, never leaving.
Her mother had called it her "guardian." Others had called it an omen.
Now, as Elara sat in the heart of the manor, the scratching of claws on stone drifted through the night. She moved to the window.
A single raven was perched on the sill, its feathers black as spilled ink, its head cocked. It tapped the glass once with its beak. Then again.
"Go on," she whispered.
But instead of flying away, the bird spread its wings wide, blotting out the moonlight. For the briefest moment, its shadow stretched unnaturally across the floor, longer than any bird should cast.
The tap came again. This time louder.
Elara turned the latch. The window creaked open. Cold night air swept in, carrying the scent of damp earth.
The raven hopped inside.
It did not attack, did not caw. It simply stood on the windowsill, staring at her. Its eyes were too bright, too intent.
And then....as she blinked, the bird spoke.
Not with a beak, but with a voice that reverberated inside her skull, a whisper she both heard and felt.
"Daughter of the Veyne line… it begins again."
Elara stumbled back, her hand clamping against her chest. The raven tilted its head, as though amused by her reaction.
Before she could speak, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her chamber. Slow, deliberate. Not Agnes. Someone heavier.
Elara's candle flickered violently, threatening to go out.
The raven gave a low, rattling croak. Then it launched itself upward, beating its wings furiously until it vanished into the shadows of the room's canopy.
The footsteps stopped outside her door.
Elara held her breath.
A pause.
Then a knock. Three slow raps against the wood.
She opened her mouth to call out, but her throat felt sealed. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
The knock came again. Louder.
"Miss Veyne," said a man's voice, low and calm. "You don't know me yet. But I have been waiting a long time to meet you."
Elara backed toward the far wall.
The raven shifted above her, its claws scraping the wooden beam. She felt its gaze on her, sharp as a blade.
The door handle began to turn.