Raven settles back into a peaceful rest. The shadows continue their conquest. The moon caresses honey stones with silver rays, bleaching all colour from the village. In the monochrome streets, the shadows shift restlessly. Unbidden, the usual shadows of the village become darker, a stain encroaching on all sides from the forests surrounding them. And in the centre of the village, in an ordinary house, Raven stirs again, sapphire eyes attempting to pierce the veils of the nighttime. Her human eyes fail to give any reason for her sudden awakening and she settles back, mouthing words that the new laws have taught her.
On the outskirts of the village, the legends raise their heads. Like an ink stain in reverse, they spread towards the centre of the village, where a pious young girl wrestles with her instincts. She tells herself that magic is false, legends are stories and myths are evil. The shadows boil in the streets, reminding the villagers to find their faith in the old ways. With an evil irony, they know it will be too late. These people, repentant or not, have been marked with an indelible tag. They are to be made an example of. The world will remember the legends and watch them unfold by the fireside again. They will look to this village as a sign to beware the new legends. The new legends teach an arrogance the old ways never knew. And the old legends are quick to anger at a new age of scorn.
Frost hardens on the cobbled streets, creating light where there should be none. Small stars flicker on the ground, capturing the light of the moon, vanishing where the shadows move again. They are silence incarnate as they find their prey.
The clock tolls again as the words comfort a blue eyed girl in the centre of the village. She slips into slumber again. The second chime mark another missed chance