A small girl, she was. Small pale features, silky black hair. She was intelligent, and very beautiful, at only 5 years. Flat- chested and terribly thin. No one knows how she died, or who did it, but watch on now from the shadows. A beautiful young woman throws crimson rose petals over the tiny corpse. The body is lying on a cloaked table. Clad in a simple black dress. Barefoot. What has she been through?
"Run Zia, you have to RUN! They're following you! RUN!!" The hard black leather shoes thud on the deserted sidewalk. A storm is brewing overhead. Zia's body quickly morphs into that of a Raven, as she slides into the sky, and heads for the woods.
The feet that touch down on the forest floor are human ones. Zia rips the straps from her shoes, and leaves them in the leaves. She takes off barefooted through the underbrush. There is a knotted root stretching across the path, and the small foot catches on it, bringing the girl's body crashing onto the damp mossy ground. Mud staining her face, and wetness dampening the front of her black dress, Zia crawls forward, trying to rise to her feet. A flowered vine clings tightly to the thin bare ankle of the child, and a sharp scream escaped her thin dry lips. The vine pulls tightly, and Zia spins around, attempting to free herself from the vice-like grip of the plant. More of the same vines, and trees and bushes of all sorts began to turn towards Zia, grabbing onto her flailing limbs. She shook a loose vine from her right wrist, and pulled her black-handled Athame from the case strapped to her waist. The small strong arm lashes out at the foliage, slicing the strong plants, and releasing Zia from their grip. She jumps up and dashes through the wood. The Athame is replaced in the leather, and the little body again morphs. Zia falls to all fours, a sleek, muscled, black cat.
The morph back into human form is the last Zia makes. Not very far from the woods, our young woman friend, Gwenalyn, finds Zia's lifeless body. There are no markings to be found on her. No bruises, no broken bones, no wounds. Her heart has stopped, and her lungs are empty. Gwenalyn carefully carries Zia back to the cottage.
Here we are now again in the present. Zia's entire body has been covered in the smooth rose petals. Gwenalyn is softly chanting over the tiny body. I'm beginning to think we should go now. Come child, let us leave. Let us all leave. We don't belong here. What's that? You want one last look at Zia's body? Oh, all right. Go ahead-But be careful!
You slowly creep forward, peering over the tall table. You touch a rose petal, feeling the silkiness beneath your skin. You slowly lean over, looking into the tiny youthful face. She looks so intelligent. As you stare at the small face, your eyes rest on the smooth purple-veined eyelids. You can't look away. You should go now, but you can't. Petals fall on your bare toes. A warmth crawls slowly up your body. You feel smaller. Images run through your mind that you have never seen before. A foreign scream rises in your throat. You glance down at your body. A small black dress. A leather strap around your waist. Holding an Athame. Barefoot. Alive. Zia.
