Painting with Brooms

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Summary

Raven was born as one of the weakest members of her coven- she was born with the gift of foresight; touched by the underworld's magic. Trying to enhance this gift her coven cast a spell to make enhance these abilities- only to curse one of their weakest members. Now it seems her time is running out because the only future Raven can see now that the witches have turned her over to the vampires in exchange for using their king as an ingredient for their failed spell- is her death. Can she see enough to escape her ill fate that seems to knock at every corner? Or will this curse devour her?

Genre:
Fantasy / Romance
Author:
Alex Fox
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
32
Rating:
5.0 3 reviews
Age Rating:
18+

Raven

(***Note from Author:

If those of you who read this are not familiar with Edgar Allen Poe's the Raven- below italicized is the poem. If you scroll past you will find the start to my story.

I would like to use this poem as a tribute as it is what started the idea for the coven series to begin with- Raven was actually the first person I had thought up when I had begun thinking about this series, I had read this poem before driving to my mother's house, a friend had sent it to me randomly (I had read it before back in high school).

There was a sudden stroke of imagination pondering the poem once more as my husband was driving- I was looking out the window. There was this painfully beautiful scene with the sun flowing through the trees far off when an idea slowly began to form as if the Fey themselves had enchanted those woods. I hope you all have been enjoying the series and the magic that it has brought into my life- that I hope I am bringing to you readers as well. There's plenty more to come, and thank you again for reading!)


“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!”

This was the poem in my head that I recited over and over again in my head as I stood in the middle of the circle with the triple moon goddess’ mark on my head with the blood of the kitten I had help birth facing north. Edgar Allen Poe- a secret love.

I was not allowed to be a stereo typical dark witch in this coven, it was bad enough the only powers I had where useless to them. Despite the resonance I felt with the dark and night- despite the peace it brought me compared to the day. If I where to attract attention to our kind I would be punished.

To wish my fated one might be a vampire would have made me an abomination. I didn’t fit into this coven, and because my parents had died in a fire when I was five- a fire I couldn’t stop. That made me their ward, someone they could do with as they pleased despite human laws saying I was free since I was now nineteen. I never ran- there was no point to despite wanting to when I turned eighteen. The first wiff they had gotten that I wanted to escape at sixteen- well I had learned my lesson very quickly how dark life could be when you upset witches.

Now- now I was here in the middle of this circle mourning the poor defenseless kitten silently as I stood, the bones of my dead mother scattered around me and now a vampire king being escorted to the center of the circle to face me. He was not bound, he was not clothed- and his face was passive as he sat before me. The mark of Hades drawn on his forehead black as night.

The circle began to pulse around us.

I closed my eyes feeling the magic pulse- magic I couldn’t harness; magic they planned to shove into this spell. Magic to make me useful. Because if you weren’t useful you where discarded.

"Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said “Nevermore.-"" I whimpered out- feeling the string between reality and magic cut and the blast of power enter my body.

Goddess help me-

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Further Recommendations

denise103: Love the plot of these. Binge read the first 12, and just found 13 complete. Will move onto your others now. Your use of grammar and punctuation is excellent too. Would pay to read your books.Thank you.

Emily Portillo: Oh my gosh! I just started this book a couple of hours ago, and I JUST had to finish it right away!! You are such an amazing author and I can’t wait to read more of your books!! ❤️💕❤️💕❤️💕

Teresa Aragon: Great story, sat at the beginning but then turned to the better , is a beautiful story I really enjoy iy😄👍

honey08: Loving the new characters, the new business venture and the new cubs!!! Can’t wait to see how it progresses and who’s next to find their fated match.

FM: I loveeee it so very much 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Julie: Really enjoyed this book so far, keeps you wanting to read more. The suspense is great to.

Jillian: I am so glad that Tate got a mate! He deserves to be happy too, he’s one of my favourite characters of the series, so yay Tate!! 😊😊

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