Does Raven weep to see what he has become? The twisted
trickster Crow, the oily black shade to the pure White Hart. Sick
mind riddled with holes, addled, eaten away by dementia worms.
Broken beak caw-calling for the blood of Hart and Serens alike;
the deepest bond of kinship, a bond unequaled, now broken by his
twisted self’s doing. Wyrden-brained lies spew from his mouth like
the choking smoke of city machines, like the dripping taint of
Soulless filth.

Does the once Wise one look out from within at the gloom of
Glomdoring and see the lush green from memory, or does he see it
as it stands now, a festering blight rotting from within? Does he
lament for all that has been lost? Gloriana as it once was,
Serenwilde’s sister, inseparably standing together, as one. If he
sees as Hart sees, as we see, does his heart break as Hart’s breaks
as ours break?

Is Raven still there somewhere, watching, as if in a nightmare, the
crimes of Crow? A caged bird, trapped within a foreign body, who
he was all but forgotten. But we of the Seren remember, we
remember our Hart’s brother as he once was. We remember, so
weep Wise Raven and wait, but never lose hope and cry never,
“Nevermore.”