Spinning though the ether she flew, Deaths daughter, the old crow, placed herself at the doorway entrance of a marble floored room, heat weighted the ground. The others could not see her as she scanned and streamed herself across and left to the corner. In this room under layers of powders and perfume that couldn't hide the putrid stench of rot, braids piled on braids once made from horse hay now from the young children they keep in the cages. These wolves sometimes shaved sometimes not, had convinced whole people to sew things on children so they could play with them. Their mouths dotted with red, the taste of their prey, they didn't even have to pretend in a world of filtered screens.
Then she whistled and hummed at the same time a tune they all knew
Ave Maria
Shalom Aleichem
Auf wederseh'n, goodnight
They didn't hear a sound until the time would be just right
it sat in their deep and at night in air filled with horror for others and the demons delight, nor scared they were or afraid of thee might not even the hand of your true God that they smite.
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