The Chronicles of Raven, Chapter 13.5:The shroud. A stand alone, chronicles of Raven story.

The storm tore through Crescent City, Ohio, thunder roaring over the neon-lit brewery district. Rain lashed my penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows, streaking crimson and violet across the black marble floor. My gothic fortress, a glass-and-steel cathedral atop a skyscraper, pierced the January 2020 sky. Crimson silk drapes swayed, glinting under raven-skull chandeliers, their amber light casting jagged shadows. My dark purple silk robe hung loose, nothing beneath, my pale skin glowing, shoulder-length black hair tipped dark purple shimmering like dusk bleeding into night. My raven tattoo pulsed above my cleavage, emerald eyes soft, obsidian wings with fiery orange embers folded tightly, their heat a faint whisper.

The loft above the decrepit church—my first throne—was Sister Sable’s now, a gift to my disciple. Sarah, my ex-wife from Richard’s life, sat on a black leather chaise, sapphire hair cascading, demon-red eyes dim, her naked body adorned only by a silver chain with a raven skull pendant, its metal biting her throat. Regressed to 22 by my magic, her devotion lingered, but her spark faded, her move to the Church of the Fallen imminent. Our recent session was hollow—her touch mechanical, her red eyes distant, my climax muted. I sank onto the chaise beside her, robe slipping, my voice gentle.

“You’re leaving for the Church soon,” I said, searching her red eyes. “I’ll miss you, pet, but our love—Richard, Rachel, even now—it’s gone. The fire’s not there anymore.”

Her chain clinked, red eyes glistening, sapphire hair shimmering. “I know, Mistress,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I serve you, but my heart’s tired. The Church feels right.”

I nodded, a bittersweet ache in my core, my hand brushing hers. “You’ll thrive with Sable,” I said, lips curling faintly. “But you’ll always be my first.”

My penthouse pulsed with power—black leather furniture, a marble bar etched with occult symbols, neon reds bleeding from the city below. My transformation from Richard, a hollow accountant, to Rachel, an innocent goddess, to Raven, a supernatural force, was forged in a rain-slicked alley. A shrouded figure, her face a void, had pressed a cold hand to my chest, burning the raven tattoo into my skin, granting wings, shape-shifting, and eternal youth. Her Irish brogue promised power to corrupt. I knew nothing of her—only the tattoo’s pulse, the wings’ weight, and my hunger, a thrill I savored in this new life.

I rose, robe swaying, and gazed out the window, the storm’s lightning illuminating my black-and-purple hair. A shadow stirred, the air thickening, chandeliers flickering. I spun, robe flaring, wings twitching, embers sparking. A figure materialized, cloaked in black, her hooded robe fraying like smoke, absorbing light. Pale skin gleamed, framed by silver hair streaked with midnight blue, cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes were twin voids, black with silver flecks like drowning stars, her crimson lips curling into a cruel smile. She held an obsidian staff, its tip glowing with a faint green rune. The storm roared, lightning illuminating her silver hair, her presence supernatural, uninvited.

“Who are you?” I growled, voice a velvet blade, emerald eyes narrowing, hair shimmering. “The one from the alley—tattoo, wings.”

Her smile widened, her Irish brogue a profane hymn. “Ye don’t know me, child of chaos, but I am the Shrouded Woman, weaver of corruption, and ye’re my creation.”

I gestured to a chaise, robe slipping, my voice sharp. “Sit. You burned this mark into me, gave me power. Why return?”

She glided to the chaise, robe trailing, staff glowing faintly. She sat, void-eyes glinting, silver hair shimmering. I perched opposite, robe pooling, wings folded, Sarah’s chain clinking as she watched, red eyes wide. The penthouse hummed, neon reds pulsing, the storm a backdrop.

“Ye’ve wielded my gifts,” she said, brogue thick. “Wings to transform, shape-shifting to deceive, youth to endure. I offer more—powers to beguile, to make ye a goddess of vice.”

My emerald eyes gleamed, core throbbing. “More?” I purred, leaning forward, hair swaying. “I’ve chained my ex-wife, seduced strangers. What powers?”

Her staff tapped the floor, green runes flaring. “Two gifts,” she said. “Mind control—yer emerald eyes can hypnotize, bend souls with a glance. An aura of seduction—a force radiating, compelling desire, obedience, without touch or words.”

My heart raced, tattoo pulsing, imagining strangers kneeling, wills shattered by my presence. “Prove it,” I demanded, voice a sultry challenge, rising, robe swaying.

She raised her staff, green rune blazing. She chanted in an ancient tongue, shadows curling like smoke. The penthouse trembled, crimson drapes swaying, neon reds pulsing. My emerald eyes glowed, my mind sharpening, a hypnotic force coiling behind my gaze. My skin tingled, a warm pulse spreading, my body radiating a faint shimmer, the air thick with jasmine, sin, and charred roses. Sarah gasped, chain clinking, red eyes glazing, her naked body trembling.

“Test them,” she said, void-eyes piercing. “Command her mind, feel yer aura’s pull.”

I faced Sarah, robe loose, emerald eyes blazing. “Sing,” I commanded, voice soft, gaze locking onto her red eyes. Her body jerked, lips parting, a haunting melody spilling, voice sultry, sapphire hair swaying, eyes blank. I stepped closer, silent, aura radiating. Sarah moaned, crawling, chain dragging, voice desperate. “Mistress, I need you,” she whispered, hands trembling, devotion reignited. I stepped back, aura dimming, and Sarah collapsed, gasping, chain clinking.

“Divine,” I purred, facing her, emerald eyes blazing. “These powers—effortless chaos. But why me? Why now?”

We sat again, chaise creaking, neon reds casting shadows. Her void-eyes glinted, brogue heavy. “Centuries ago, I was mortal, a nun in Galway, tendin’ orphans, nursin’ the sick. The church betrayed me—greed, cruelty, lies. A demon forged me into this—a shadow, neither livin’ nor dead, sowing chaos.”

I leaned forward, robe slipping, hair shimmering. “Others before me?” I asked, emerald eyes sharp.

“Not the first,” she said, staff glowing. “In Venice, a courtesan, her heart kind, became a siren, her whispers topplin’ empires. In London, a seamstress, her soul gentle, turned assassin, her blades dancin’ in shadows. Each bore my mark, reshaped for chaos. Ye, Raven, are my fiercest, yer hunger unmatched.”

My tattoo pulsed, core throbbing. “Why me, then?” I asked, voice a velvet blade. “A trapped accountant, a man in a beige cage?”

“Ye were Richard, starvin’ for freedom,” she said, void-eyes piercing. “As Rachel, ye painted pain, loved Sarah, yet were bound. I saw yer fire, gave ye wings, hair tipped purple, to make ye my herald, to shatter virtues.”

My eyes narrowed. “You warned of a shadow hunting me,” I said. “Why?”

Her void-eyes flickered, silver flecks swirling. “A woman circles yer city, tied to yer fate,” she said, brogue cryptic. “My powers arm ye to face her, to bend or break her.”

“What ties?” I demanded, standing, robe flaring, aura pulsing. “Speak plainly.”

She rose, robe trailing, staff tapping. “Truths ye’ll find,” she said, smile enigmatic. “Yer aura, eyes, wings—they’ll conquer any foe, forge yer empire.”

The storm roared, lightning illuminating her silver hair, a profane halo. She stepped into shadow, robe swallowing light. “Use yer powers, Raven,” she whispered, brogue slithering. “Beguile, corrupt, rule. Virtues are shadows waitin’ for yer fire.”

She vanished, air still, chandeliers steadying. I stood, aura shimmering, emerald eyes glowing, Sarah kneeling, chain clinking, red eyes pleading. I crossed to the marble bar, robe swaying, and picked up a black phone, dialing, voice a velvet purr.

“Crescent Brothers Brewery?” I said, lips curling, aura pulsing. “Raven Jupiter, Ohio Beverage Commission. Schedule an inspection tomorrow. I have plans for your legacy.”

I hung up, raising my hand, black-and-purple hair catching the neon, emerald eyes blazing. “To corruption forevermore."