trials

the price of seeing both 

 

Cassandra has had enough of the

extraordinary for a while.

Understandable.

What she would like now is something

considerably simpler.

Warmth.

Company.

Someone she already knows.

Nothing complicated.

Certainly not love.

Cassandra is very clear about this.

Which is always reassuring.

 

There is a man.

There is also a raven.

Cassandra will pay considerably more

attention to one of them than the

other.

For now.

the raven

 

I met him years ago. A small affair,

nothing more. Then I left without a

trace.

Still, he never faltered - birthday and

Christmas cards, subtle, never

demanding.

 

For years I didn’t think much about

him. I was alone, recovering from a

cruel heartbreak, not in the mood for

anyone new. But I missed the warmth of

a touch. So when he called and said,

“I’m in town - maybe dinner?” I said yes.

He added, “I need to book a hotel -

king-size bed?”

It was bold, charming. I liked that.

I said yes without another thought.

 

We laughed a lot that night. The air was

warm, and I got exactly what I needed.

“Don’t be a stranger,”

he said in the morning.I said nothing,

not planning to see him again. 

But he didn’t give up.

 

Slowly, I agreed to meet again. At first I

didn’t feel anything - I was still numb,

my walls as high as the sky.

But he was tender, patient, soft. And

slowly, I felt alive again.

Alive was better than numb.

He nurtured me with his quiet care

back to life. Still, my walls remained.

 

“Look, an eagle,” he once said as we

stood in the mountains. But I was

searching the skies for a raven.

After a while, he moved in. Quietly - just

a few things in a drawer.

We didn’t speak about it.

Just shared understanding - it seemed

the right thing to do.

Moments became memories,

became emotional anchors in

the deep sea.

 

Sometimes he was gone. Business, he

said. Maybe true. I was never sure.

But he always called, telling me where

he was and what he was doing.

I believed half of it, and half I didn’t.

 

One moment stood out: I was standing

alone at home, and a wave of

happiness hit me - pure, unshaken,

though he wasn’t even there. The first

time I ever felt it.

It was liberating and full of hope.

 

But fate had other plans. Some turmoil

in his family pulled him away, and I

recognized he wasn’t meant for me.

Nor I for him. Still, I clung to him.

His touch was intoxicating.

He was safe.

 

With him, I didn’t need to lower my walls

- what I gave was enough.

Years went by. Easy days at times, but

after a while I felt a longing for

something deeper, something I knew we

could never reach.

Stay or go - it tormented me. I was

ashamed of my own weakness.

It dimmed what we had.

 

Then fate decided for us. A call: he’d

died of a heart attack. The call came

from a woman - his wife, I learned.

I apologized to her, shame and guilt

and grief flooding me.

I couldn’t look in the mirror.

 

Numb, I returned to work, did what had

to be done. No one noticed anything.

That night I cried, begged the gods to

take away the pain.

They did not answer, not that night.

The next day, a raven sat on my porch.

Its eyes fixed on mine, an unspoken

warning: brace yourself.

I nodded. It cawed once, as if

acknowledging, and flew to a nearby

tree to watch.

 

I sat at home crying, still feeling him in

the house. The sheets held his scent -

fall air, wet soil after rain.

He was gone. Grief is love no longer to

be shared, they say. And it felt like this.

 

Then another call - another woman,

freshly in love with him.

She thought I was just a friend.

I said nothing. Instead I gave her

comfort. That feeling of love and

kindness I so desperately

needed that day - at least it could be

shared.

 

Later I sifted through his things: hotel

receipts, gifts, an invoice for marriage

counseling, blue pills that seemed to

glow with mockery. I packed it all away

and gave it to charity.

 

On my phone, his voice remained:

“Come home, I made dinner. I miss you.”

His last message.

 

The raven in the tree still watched. Sad,

not judging. And I thought: no, I can’t

bear it.

 

I tried to stay cool, tried to stand tall.

Inside, a war raged - heaven and hell.

Wrath and fury I didn’t know I carried.

I would have killed him myself, if death

hadn’t already. My pride became a

dark demon that day.

The sting of betrayal carved burning

lines through me.

 

But deeper than that - my heart,

treacherous and tender, still longed for

him. And heaven fought back:

He loved you still, the angels whispered.

No, I said firmly. He betrayed and lied.

All lies since it started.

The battle raged, casualties on both

sides.

 

Then the raven returned. It sat on the

porch, waiting. Watching.

And I swear - it smiled.

 

The unexpected happened. I went calm.

A warmth spread through me,

impossible to explain.

Pure light touched me, as if I had been

embraced. My whole body felt warm

and peaceful.

 

For the first time, I felt truly loved.

Something was there with me - I felt it.

Not him, but something divine.

It felt like home. And I knew: I would

survive. I knew healing would come,

even for older wounds.

 

Months went by, the war more like a

siege. Then it ended in a truce.

He was a kind fool and maybe he knew.

Shortly before he died, he smiled,

kissed my hand, and said:

“With this song, I’ll always think of you.”

In the background a song played, one

about love and even if everything

is in question, this love was real and

strong.

 

Foreshadowing, I knew now. An anchor

in the dark he left.

Demons and angels alike

stopped the fight.

 

And I gave in, forgiving. Healing,

remembering that divine light I had

felt.

I learned that love is different, and free.

Even fools, cowards, and queens

behind walls love in their own ways.

The truce holds by this strange duality

- lies and truths side by side.

 

I look in the mirror. Ink on skin. A raven.

Not for the dead, but for the living.

For those who know the power of

weaving dark and light into love.

A mark to be seen. A claim.

Safe turned out to be optimistic.

Cassandra has discovered something

particularly irritating.

Two things can be true at once.

He lied to her.

He loved her.

She was betrayed.

What they had was real.

 

Cassandra would strongly

prefer a verdict.

Guilty or innocent.

Love or deception.

Heaven or hell.

Life declines to provide one.

Very inconsiderate.

 

So Cassandra does what

Cassandra does.

She puts the whole thing on trial.

Angels on one side.

Demons on the other.

Cassandra somehow serving as

prosecution, defence and injured

party. Efficient.

Not especially peaceful.

 

But before any of that is settled,

another woman calls.

Someone else who loved him.

Cassandra is hurting.

Furious, actually.

And still, she gives the woman

kindness. Interesting.

Eventually, the war ends without

anyone winning.

That's new.

 

Cassandra doesn't have to make him

innocent to forgive him.

She doesn't have to make the love false

to name the betrayal.

Both remain.

Dark and light.

Side by side.

Apparently the world can survive the

contradiction.

So can Cassandra.

 

And the raven?

She puts him on her skin.

Not for the dead.

For the living.

A mark. A claim.

Cassandra has spent quite a long time

asking what things mean.

This one, she chooses for herself.