**Litte Bird**
Autor: BlackLoona
For he is temptation and they cannot resist.
Pretty little bird, with innocent eyes and a sweet face as he lures others to him, tilting his head to the side in a show of bashfulness as those who are greedy and envious follow him, yielding to his calls and allowing themselves to be wrapped within his will.
He excites them, this little bird, as he comes near, only to quickly scurry away when one dares to come to close, hiding his face in a form of shyness as he leads them along, whispering in their ear such sweet words as they try to grasp and hold him, wanting, wanting, wanting just a small taste of the pretty bird, who sings so softly and looks like an angel.
Pretty little bird, with innocent eyes and a sweet face as they follow him, follow him into the darkness, follow him into hell, for he is a sweet little bird, and can do them no harm. But they do not see the malice, the hatred, the insanity that swirls within those pretty eyes as he glances away in feigned coyness.
For they are ignorant, and he is a master.
Softly he calls and easily they obey, and as they gaze into those pretty eyes set in an innocent face they do not see the crow that looms overhead, shadowing the pretty little bird like a plague until they are staring into cruel eyes as they are ripped apart, their screams and cries of agony ringing all around while dark talons sink into their flesh until a sharp beak tears away their windpipe, silencing their screams and basking in their spilt blood.
And all the while the pretty little bird, with innocent eyes and a sweet face watches on with sickening glee, pleased with the knowledge of another slaughter, of another kill.
For his feathers are clean and his beak is pure, but his heart is as black as the claws of his partner.
And when the crow is done, leaving nothing but scraps behind, he sweeps the pretty bird into his wings and shares his meal, offering the young one a taste of his sin before carrying him away; clutching him in his blood stained claws and wrapping his black feathers around the tiny creature. For the crow loves his pretty little bird, who has the heart of a killer.
And the little bird, safe in the clutches of a monster, sings even louder; for he shall always be protected by this dark crow, who lured him into the deepest depths of hell where he found what he truly was made of.
But even as he curls up to the crow at night he knows that this monster does not truly care for him. For he is a deceiver; and the little bird is just his next meal.