“A Wise Perch and a Warm Hearth” by Roberta Goli
Today, Lise and Kevin are doing something a little different – below is the original short version submitted to Zoetic Press for NonBinary Review #12, The works of Edgar Allan Poe. Following that is a longer, erotic version that was published in her collection Unfettered. We’ll be heading back to high school to do a compare and contrast with the two pieces.
Version 1
Rain pelted the raven’s feathers as she dove towards the building. It was late, just after midnight, the light peeking through the gaps in the curtain creating a welcoming glow, visible the wet ground. She landed on the sill, shifting her head as she peered through the glass, her sharp vision taking in the capacious and resplendent room. At one end, a huge bookcase loomed, each shelf bursting with thick tomes. The other end displayed a welcoming hearth, though its embers were dying, causing ghastly umbras to stretch across the floor. A man was seated in a large chair facing the fire, the shadows dancing across his face as he rested his head upon a velvet cushion. He slept restlessly, an open volume upon his lap. The raven tapped at the window with a strong beak. The man jolted awake, startled by the sudden noise on such a dreary night.
He stood; eyeing the chamber door with unease, then jumped when the purple curtains fluttered from an unyielding mistral; the old window not quite meeting the frame perfectly. The raven watched curiously as the man muttered to himself, and languidly made his way to the door. He paused, then flung the door wide open, to be met by nothing more than darkness, for the raven sat upon the windowsill. He stood transfixed, the opacity threatening to consume him as he muttered the name of his lost love into the gloom. The bird heard, not the man’s voice, but rather the echo ‘Lenore’, a susurrus that reverberates around the room, washing over the man like an ocean of disconsolateness.
The raven tapped the window again and this time the man turned, his face a bloodless mask of anguish and fear as he approached the window to investigate the sound. He drew open the curtains and lifted the pane, inviting in the cold wind, which carried with it, the onyx fowl. She perambulates about the room, shaking out the water in a flutter of feathers, then ascends to find purchase upon a bust, which sits atop the chamber door. The man smiled, relieved and beguiled, closing the window to the frigid night, and begins conversing with his feathered guest.
She sits preening her ebony plume, not paying much attention during his allocution, until he asked her name. The raven paused, cocking her head and answered with a single word, “Nevermore.”
The man staggered back, his face crumpled in shock. After a moment of recovery, he begins to question the name, disbelieving the raven. Her obsidian eyes bore into the man’s watery blue orbs as she watched his increasing agitation. He wonders whether the raven is performing an act of mimicry, or if she is an ominous messenger on the dispiriting December evening, planning to abscond by daybreak, leaving the man alone again with his grief. As he pondered the significance of the raven and their colloquy, the bird watched, occasionally silencing his aberration by saying, ‘Nevermore’, as she sat undaunted upon the bust.
The man, becoming hysterical begins asking the raven a myriad of questions that she cannot know the answers too. She repeated, ‘Nevermore’, and watched as the man descended into his own tormented hell, never comprehending that he grieved for the lost Lenore and seeks a glimmer of hope that they will be reunited in death. He man gesticulates wildly, attempting to shoo the bird away, but she doesn’t flit, doesn’t blink, and merely sits, as the lamplight stretches her avian shadow across the floor, spreading over the man’s heart and mind as he crumpled in a heap of frenetic madness.
The raven, merely wishing to dry her feathers and seek shelter from the tempest, watched on, musing about the next time she sees the inviting glow of a fireplace through a window during a storm. ‘Nevermore’, she thinks.
Version 2
Rain pelted my feathers as I studied the outside of the manor house, so heavy as though the gods had emptied their chamber pots. Light from a hearth-fire shone through only one window, just to the left of the spectacular rose window which dominated the façade. The full moon peeked out from behind a smudge of gray clouds and I saw two gargoyles adorned the gables, flanking the single tower. Grotesque forms with hardened wings jutting from their backs, talons hooked over the edge of the roof; an ominous sight. The stately home was surrounded by large trees. Grey leafless branches, specters swaying in the breeze as fog drifted around their trunks like sentient life forms.
It was late, just after midnight and the evening was graveyard quiet. The orange light filtered through the gap in the curtain, creating a welcoming glow. I took flight and dove towards the window, landed on the sill. Wind pounded the brickwork, rattling shutters and sneaking in under my feathers to chill my bones. I shifted my head as I peered through the glass, my sharp vision took in the capacious and resplendent room. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their candlelight flickered as air moved through the drawing room. At one end, a huge bookcase loomed, each shelf bursting with thick tomes. The other end displayed a welcoming hearth, though its embers were dying, causing ghastly umbras to stretch across the floor. The man was seated in a large chair facing the fire, the shadows danced across his face as he rested his head upon a velvet cushion. He was dressed in a white shirt, dark vest and black trousers. A long black coat had been flung over another chair and he’d kicked off his shoes, one stockinged foot lay across the other. He slept restlessly, an open volume upon his lap. I tapped at the window with my strong beak. It took several more raps at the glass before the man jolted awake, startled by the noise on such a dreary night.
He placed the book aside, nudging the empty teacup that rested on the rickety side table. He stood; eyeing the chamber door, then flinched when the purple curtains fluttered from an icy gust of wind; the old window not quite meeting the frame perfectly. I watched curiously through the curtain’s gap, as the man muttered to himself and languidly made his way to the door. He paused, then flung it wide open, to be met by nothing but darkness. He stood transfixed for a moment and I thought I heard him mutter something; perhaps the name of his lost love.
“Who’s there?” he called into the gloom. “Leave me to my misery.”
He slammed the door and leaned against it, hand to his chest.
I tapped again, more gently this time, the man turned to the window, his face a bloodless mask of anguish and fear. He approached to investigate the sound and drew the curtains aside with a trembling hand. His body sagged with relief when he saw me; a simple raven and lifted the pane and welcomed me inside. I flew up to the bust, which sat atop the chamber door and shook out the water in a flutter of feathers.
“You startled me,” he said. He closed the window to the frigid night and returned to his wingback chair. After a time, he became drowsy and drifted off to sleep. Now was the time. To have done it earlier would risk frightening him or worse, having him question his sanity. I had to take care. I flew from my perch and drifted in circles until I came to rest upon the floor in front of the hearth.
The air shimmered as the transformation took place. My feathers were absorbed only to reappear as hair as I misted into my human form. I stood naked in front of the hearth, my locks the same ebony color of my feathers, drifting seductively down my back like a silken waterfall, a small tuft between my legs. So dark in contrast to my pale featherless skin. As a woman, I’m young and nubile, as far as humans go; twenty-five years old, all the better to appeal to this charge who was only a few years my senior.
I took a breath and centered myself, becoming familiar once again to these lanky appendages. With practice, I’d become as graceful as when in raven form.
This was my first time as a harbinger of pleasure. I’d had sex in my human form before, I knew how to please a man, or woman, or both at once if need be, but this man would be my first charge. That alone made me anxious and a cold lump settled in my gut. If something went wrong, or he refused me, then I’d be demoted, losing my freedom to fly where I pleased, at least temporarily. I knew a harbinger who’d had her wing clipped, rendered unable to fly for almost a year until her next molt, for that very reason. I pushed the negative thoughts aside as I closed my eyes and focused on my training.
A memory of a time I’d been with Mordella came to mind, she’d become my favorite trainer, partly due to her sense of humor and natural beauty. Like me, her true form was Raven, but when I nuzzled the dark fur between her legs, I found her human musk enticing. She’d taught me which parts of the woman to press, which to stroke with a firmer hand and I recalled delicately probing her clitoris with my tongue and fingers and becoming excited by the glistening sheen that appeared on her pink lips. I’d pushed two fingers inside her then and used my thumb to rub her bud as I rhythmically moved my hand back and forth, faster and faster until she moaned loudly and her body shuddered. Afterwards, she’d told me I was ready for my first assignment.
My clit twitched and my nipples hardened. I was ready. I cawed softly, but the sound was melodic through my human lips, a siren’s call to lure the man. His eyes fluttered open and he sat upright in his chair, his jaw dropped.
“Who are you?”
“You needn’t be alarmed, I’m here to aid you.” I smiled, hoping to put him at ease.
“Aid me with what?”
“Your pain.”
He st
