@rosegcle liked for a starter
The pain in his wing blurred Diaval’s vision at first. He remembered little for what felt like days. The growling of a dog. The flash of teeth. Soft hands, soft voice. A girl - a woman - singing to him sweetly, bandaging him. Now that the pain had subsided the main thing he remembered was the singing. He didn’t remember how he’d arrived here or where “here” was. A nest - a flat - filled with light and pretty things. The smell was strong, something he could almost recognize but in his raven form, could not place in memory. Bittersweet. Like two or more scents were battling for dominance. It was familiar and it was maddening that Diaval couldn’t place it. From his new nest in a cardboard box with a soft blanket, he couldn’t see much. The color of the room was explosive. He took comfort in the swooshy, dark hair of his savior as she moved through the apartment. Though he did not know her, there was a familiar quality to the shade and texture that made him preen a little, just in case she turned to face him again. But she continued to sing to herself and then - for the briefest moment, bid him farewell. That he understood. Wasn’t sure he liked being addressed as though he were only an animal - even though, if one wanted to get technical, that’s all he was - but he cawed softly anyways. Maybe he was trying to let his rescuer know he understood her and wished to thank her.
He was grateful that she hadn’t transformed him into something against his will, like someone else had done years ago... He thought of his Mistress with distant fondness these days. Time and space had separated them, but he would always be indebted to her for his gifts. And speaking of those gifts... Diaval had a plan as soon as his savior left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Diaval pushed his cardboard box to the edge of the counter. He hopped on the edge and as it flipped he tried to take flight. The searing pain shot up his wing and continued to throb up his arm as he collapsed to the floor a man. Diaval lay there for a moment, trying to get his bearings. The colors of the world were dulled; the scents heightened. Now he could place it. Coffee. Cigarettes. Roses. He cradled his lame, limp arm with the other and rolled onto his back to look at the kitchen. Standard, he figured, for a small nest. He sat up. If he was in the kitchen, that meant he could get food and water for himself. He heaved himself to his feet, lacking his usual grace and curiously stepped over to the cabinets. Some sugary cereal in a brightly colored box caught his eye and he snatched it. After eating three handfuls, he decided water was more important. He abandoned the box of cereal on the stove and went to hunt for glasses to fill with water from the tap. Just as he took a sip, the door clicked open. Diaval swiveled around.
Standing on the thresh hold was his savior. Her long, dark hair flowed beautifully over her shoulders. Her eyes - hazel - were wide with surprise. But it was her mouth that worried Diaval: pink lips parted in an open-mouthed, silent scream.
“I believe some introductions are in order?” he rasped out, setting the glass down. He gave something of a bow to the woman. “I am Diaval and I owe you my life.”
