At 4:03 a.m. I realized I had gone to sleep without dinner. My stomach growled thrice, the third time it's rumble woke me from REM. I stared at my ceiling again with clouded eyes. A fourth growl. I really needed to eat, but I was hesitant. I would have to roam the house at night and that was something that truly scared me.

Why you ask? Because of the eyes that watched me. I had never seen their owners, but I had felt them none-the-less, eyes of jade and eyes of ruby, some large others the size of pencil tips, but no matter what they looked like, they always sought me out at night.

And now, I'd leave the sanctuary my room provided and go into the kitchen where they'd certainly find me. They never felt of ill intent. But they waited for me to do something. And not knowing what that something was, filled me with fear.

The fifth and final growl. My stomach, completely in knots, forced my legs to move and I reluctantly moved to the kitchen.

"I could have the leftover fried rice," I muttered, eyeing the leftover styrofoams. "Although cereal'd be much easier," I continued, knowing I was talking to myself to take my mind of the stares.

As soon as I had left my room, they were on me, their eyes with pinpoint precision, waiting for me to do that particular something. It's a hard feeling to explain without sounding absurd. But I assure you, if you felt the darkness lurking around you, all its eyes focused on you, waiting to see how you reacted, you would come to loathe it as much as I had.

"There are frozen meals I could pop in the microwave too," I reminded myself, wrapping my arms over my chest, the chill of the fridge getting in my bones. I decided on the fried rice, the microwave at home doing a much better job than the ones at school.

Within minutes, I was back in my room, the eyes no longer on me, the smell of soy sauce and garlic invading my senses. I relaxed and reached for a fork. The fried rice was lukewarm and delicious. I had no TV in my room at my own request and so I took to staring out my bay window as I ate, wondering if Crispen slept outside of raindrops. Perhaps he was flying with his crows? Or starting conversations with stars?

As the last bit of rice slid down my throat, a feeling of tired content washed over me, my desire to sleep returning now that my belly had grown fat. I headed back towards my bed but was stopped midway.

"I need to look back," I said. Words that weren't my own had fallen out of my mouth. I did as I told myself to do, turning around and facing my bay window once more. Nothing had changed in the seconds I had turned away from it. The sky still held its stars and clouds. The moon was still in it's waning phase. But the scene held my gaze regardless.

"A little longer," I mumbled, certain something was coming, unaware of what that something might be.  And just as I told myself to wait, as if on cue, what I had been waiting for appeared outside my window, flapping his large black wings, beckoning me to let him in.

"Genesis," I said surprised, opening the window enough for the golden eyed crow to slip through. He had the same regality Crispen had when he entered the school. Maybe they were one and the same.

"We are not, Miss Auttsley, and I do hope you refrain from such thoughts in the future. Us crows value our individualities," he responded, flying over to my bed, landing on a mid-sized black pillow. He smoothed out its creases with one of his wings, and settled upon it.

"How can I understand you now?" I asked, wishing I had been able to understand him hours ago when he had been gossiping about me. The old crow just cackled.
"Because I allow you to understand. You've been accepted." He made it sound like I passed an entrance exam for the school of supernaturals.

"Something akin to that, I suppose," the crow answered, continuing to reply to my thoughts as Mr. Heavensley had-

"Please, no more comparisons," he pleaded, his eyes finding my floor length mirror. He hopped towards it and stood there looking himself over. I laughed.

"I get it," I said through chuckles, "You're a vain creature. And you don't want to be compared to Crispen because you'll be even more impressed with yourself than you already are."

The old crow straightened as a blush of red colored his cheeks.
"Perhaps I am," he said, puffing out his breast. "But what creature isn't?"

I smiled. "For a bird, you make a good point. And what's worse, I'll tell you this, Crispen was right. You crows do make for good conversations."

Genesis' eyes grew wide, the glimmer of a thousand secret treasures held in his gaze, as he strutted towards me with the gait of a prized cock. He flew back onto my bed, onto the pillow he had claimed his own, and beckoned me once again with the flap of his wing. I couldn't help but take note how the crow favored his right wing over his left. Did birds have dominate wings? No matter, I moved beside the crow, just as the darling creature had commanded.
He looked me in the eyes before bending over and releasing a silver coin from his beak.

"Do crows have pockets?" I joked, wondering in truth, where the coin came from. Genesis hadn't had anything on him when he arrived. Genesis just smiled, his vagueness similar to you-know-who.

"That belongs to you," he said, waiting for me to take the coin in my palm. I took it slowly, seeing its glow; one of black and grey; a tiny star filled night that hovered around the coin. I wondered if Genesis could see it. The crow shook his head. A no. Then this tiny starry night was mine. The coin trembled in my palm, a warmth emanating from it, making its way to me; a greeting that told me of how glad it was to be home.

"Crispen found that ages ago," the crow squawked, his eyes still on the coin. What I thought must have intrigued him. He had the most beautiful feathers; they held an almost lacquered polish, the moonlight complimenting them perfectly. "He was supposed to be next in line but ran away. And when he ran, I followed, and he stumbled across that coin."

"In line? For what?" I asked my night visitor, holding the coin and it's nightscape tenderly in my hand. Under my touch the stars realigned, forming constellations out of season during Autumn. I can't describe how lost I could have gotten in that coin if it hadn't been for Genesis.

"The Council of Four," Genesis sighed, staring out my window. "He hated the idea of being contained and ran away. And then when he found that coin, he felt its pulse for you. And vowed he would return it someday."

I saw the stars mold into Corvus, riding on the back of Hydra. I missed star gazing. I had always done it with my father. But not now. It was too unnatural to stand under the night sky without him.

"Why Genesis? Why hold on to something that wasn't his?"

"Because he knew it belonged to you. And he wanted to see that you got it. That's just how the boy is."

I couldn't understand why Crispen would hold onto the coin for someone else. But Crispen didn't exactly have answers to the whys, he just did. And that was what made Crispen, Crispen. It's also what kept me captivated by his spell. The crow moved closer, his wing brushing my arm, his head tipped up to meet my gaze.

"Would you like me to tell you a tale?" he asked, eyes shiny and wet like a golden polish splattered across dark canvas, not yet dry, but not exactly fresh. I nodded and waited for the bird to begin.

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"I grew up in the forests west of here, where trees grew long and thick, and where animals of magical natures could play freely. The area was protected by a veil, a leftover of Reflection, and because of this, humans could never find the forest's entrance. It was a fine place, good for feathered folk or fleshy creatures; we all got along, freely traversing the layers and exchanging tales. My mother saw fit to build our nest in the highest tree, with the driest  twigs from the Refinery. I may have been biased, but my mother's nest was the best nest in that forest.

"My brothers and sisters, of which we totaled seven, were surrounded on all sides by the teals and creams of an always inviting sky and the lush evergreen masses of leaves that trembled slightly in the wind; a song of leaf that only we could hear. A scent of lavenders and witchewood scented the crisp air. The sun always shone and when rain did fall on our quiet forest, it was sweet and warm; my siblings and I splashing around the puddles that formed in our nest, laughing and getting each other soaked. I guess I'm like Crispen in that way too," the crow said, a warm tone in his eyes; a flame heating the metallic. My fondness for him grew.

"My mother made sure each of us were fed well and every night under the stars, she would tell us tales of the layers and how one day we would get to travel them too. My life was idyllic then and it was all kinds of wonderful. I felt unbeatable."

Genesis paused here, his eyes returning to stone, his memories, capturing his heart with their nostalgia and I felt my heart slow for him. Tragedy read all over his face. We both braced for his next words.

"One day, one that drizzled with the warm beginning rains of spring, a coven of ravens moved into the tree next door. Their nest was messy and massive, and twigs and twines of all stations in life were laid about it in sporadic bunches. They were horrible things, haughty and proud, creatures of strong magic that still existed in Reason. They had eyes as black as the void and feathers to match, slicked back and held firmly in place. They had a cruel demeanor, crueler manners and looked down on us who lacked their magic.

"They'd always peck at my mother when she flew by with food in her beak for us and they'd spit pebbles at my siblings and I as we danced and played. On a cooler Autumn night that the forest offered, one of the ravens flew overhead and dropped a large stone from its beak. It hit my littlest sister in the eye and she was never able to see right after that."

The crow looked up here, tears plucked at his eyes, a quiet read on him that spoke of loss.

"She was a demure, shy little bird; the smallest of the bunch, but with a wit about her that made her charmingly delightful. She was our nest's little sun, shining bright and far, even on days when the real sun chose to hide. She didn't manage for very long outside the nest with half her vision to rely upon.

"When the summer months came, a coyote crept up in my little sister's blind spot as she wrestled with some berries on the forest floor. It was quick, her getting scooped up in the foul creature's mouth. I can still remember the hollow crunching sound her bones had made as he bit through her neck. How easily our little sun had been stolen from us."

His gaze was fixed on the sky, as if he was hoping to find his sister there, flying among the stars. Looking at Genesis as he was, made me heartbroken. And selfishly, I began to think of my own tragedy, my eyes wet, memories of my father that laid buried, clawing their skeletal hands to the surface.

My crying face was not my prettiest face I could choose to make; it was puffy and red and distorted my peach-shaped head and prominent cheekbones. This face was, however, one of the most honest faces I possessed. Genesis looked my way but for a moment staring at the messy heap of a girl I sure I was, my hand wiping at the tears furiously, trying to keep up with the speed at which they fell.

The coin jolted under my touch, a slight tremor spreading across the metal, the stars shifting again in its sky, forming Cygnus. I smiled, the coin sharing in my tears the only way a coin could. I grasped it tight, the stars giving way to my fist, thankful to it that I wasn't alone.

"My sister's loss was not surprising," he began again. "Crows are children of nature and true to itself, nature is a child of cruelty and chaos. Because of this, my mother taught us that all our lives were not guaranteed. We are not like you humans who can create to combat nature's wrath and whim.

"It hurt regardless, as I'm sure you can tell. Mother never prepared us for the pain. Afterwards, our nest grew quiet and when rain fell, we felt no reason to dance. By the next spring, our time had come and we were to fly away. I was nervous- leaving them all behind- but excited to see the layers my mother had always spoken about. I had taken to the air easily; the wind running the whole of my body was glorious. But the ravens sought to toy with us until the very end. They took to the skies not long after we had and circled around us, pecking and clawing. My siblings managed to escape them but me, a raven claw caught on my wing, and I fell."

Genesis opened his left wing to show me a jagged, red fleshy scar running the length of his wingspan.

"As I fell, I was sure I would die. But I was glad it would be me. It was selfish of me to say so, but I don't think my heart could have managed otherwise. When I thought I'd hit the ground, I did not, and instead, landed on top a spongy, fleshy mound. One of pale skin and blonde ringlets. A machine- later I found out it was a Walkman- clasped in its talons."

He smiled. The boy of crows had saved him.

"He didn't say anything as he looked me over with black eyes. I had never met a human, though my mother's stories were filled with them, cruel to kind, and I wasn't quite sure what kind of human I had fallen on. Crispen's face broke into a smile then and replied, 'The kind kind.' His smile was contagious and I found one upon my beak. He had continued, 'I've never had anything fall into my lap before. Was this a first for you, too?' I had nodded, still too in shock to speak.

"For weeks, I could not fly, but Crispen took to me and was relentless when it came to my healing. All manner of salves and creams were slathered on my wing, their slimy textures stayed on my feathers. As did their varying smells, sweet to acrid, the worst smelling of Pinprickle. Crispen had ignored my whines and pleas because as he had said, 'What was a bird without its flight?'"

"'A miserable creature with shortened life,' I had responded. He named me- his gift from the skies- Genesis because that day I fell, he had been listening to 'Invisible Touch' on cassette, track two. When I was well rested and ready for flight, I had lamented because Crispen had grown on me and I hadn't wanted to leave his side. I didn't know how to tell him I wished to stay, but I hadn't need to. As I'm sure you're aware, Miss Auttsley, Crispen has ways of answering those questions you dare not ask."

I chuckled. "Though I tend to speak most of my questions. I'm a very owl-like creature."

Genesis shook his head in agreement.

"Crispen took me on his shoulder, a perch most grand, and there I've sat since."

The bird concluded his song. It made a lovely sound in my ears as it was told, one that rang out with notes of heartbreak and hummed of small happinesses. I didn't know why Genesis felt the need to tell me the story, to let me become so close to him  but I was thankful, because he had let me a little closer to Crispen as well. He took to the windowsill and looked back at me but once.

"You and Crispen's threads have been intertwined since long ago, and though I don't know where they lead, I wanted you to know more about him. I do not wish for his future companion to hurt him irreparably. His heart is not made of rubber, Miss Auttsley. It will not bend back."

With that, the old scarred crow took to the skies again and I was left with a heavy heart and a brain full of Genesis's words that insisted on staying. I had two sleeps that day, but I was doomed to go without a third. The questions conjured by Genesis' parting words, in and out they went, my brain unable to shut itself off. Honestly, I didn't mind. Crispen Heavensley was enough a waking, tangible dream to hold me over until morning.