Rhapsody of Stolen Feathers
By Frank Alvarez
My golden-emerald feathers ruffled, guilt from my recent smoke break heavy in my chest. I'd been away too long, seeking solace in the plumes of a pack of Smoky Serenades, and now my neglect had come to snatch me.
I looked up, catching the striking silhouette of Isabella, our corvid hostess, at the entrance of the Velvet Feather Lull — our cabaret haven and home. Her glistening black feathers gleamed, casting a mystifying allure. But now, those sharp eyes, usually filled with playful mystery during our nightly spectacles, widened in alarm.
"Izzy," I rasped, noticing how my usually confident voice wavered. "It's not what it looks like."
Her shocked eyes flitted between the still forms of my clutch sisters, Viola and Lyra, then to the pooled whiskey on the floor. She visibly swallowed. Her dulcet voice was laced with a touch of that endearing naivety. "Flora, what happened?"
Trying to keep the panic from my voice, I replied with quick, sardonic wit, "Oh, just your typical Tuesday night where there's a sloshed splash of whiskey, stolen musical instruments, and of course, a couple of minstrels sprawled in their birthday suits after some uninvited feather plucking. Just a regular evening for the Drake sisters."
Isabella shot me a reproachful look. Beneath her tenderness, worry glimmered. "This isn't the time for jokes. Are they—?"
"They're alive, just unconscious," I cut her off before she could even finish that thought. My fingers grazed an indigo feather on the ground — unmistakably Viola's. Its usual vibrancy now tainted with dread.
Isabella seemed to sense my rising trepidation. Taking a steadying breath, she suggested, "We need to find out who did this."
"Yes, but first, call the police and the paramedics. And do it quickly." I was already headed toward the exit, my eyes locking onto another brilliant blue feather — distinctly Lyra's — stuck on a nearby tree.
Someone was leading me.
Isabella, perceptive as ever, followed my gaze to the feather outside. Her hand brushed mine, a fleeting rush of yearning. "Be cautious, Flora."
With a teasing grin, I winked, "Always am, sweetheart."
With that, I plunged into the dusk outside, leaving behind the comforting glow of the Velvet Feather Lull, clinging to the image of a blushing Isabella, hoping it wouldn't be the last time I saw her radiant face.
Whoever had dared to harm my sisters would soon regret it.
A shadowy warehouse loomed ominously at the end of the grim trail peppered with my sisters' delicate feathers. But it was the golden-green feather clinging to the threshold of the slightly ajar metal door that caused my heart to flutter.
My feather. How could this be?
With my outrage boiling over, I pushed through the portal. A chilling darkness greeted me, punctuated by my echoing footsteps. The door slammed shut, and as if on cue, a stark light illuminated the room.
A dark silhouette towered before me. Its form grotesquely familiar yet disturbingly off.
It was as though a duck had been cruelly twisted by nature, the bill far too broad and flat, reminiscent of a shovel. The head was unnaturally round, lacking the streamlined grace I was accustomed to seeing among my kind. Standing tall and imposing, its silken fur — an affront to every feather in my body — shone eerily under the fluorescent lights. This malformed creature's webbed feet looked wrong, the tail too short and stubby. Its eyes, tiny but seething with malevolence, met mine.
A repulsive deformed bird embodied in my revulsed stare.
"My dear Flora, the most radiant of all," it snarled, its voice oozing with mockery. "Soon, I shall revel in the dominion of your enchanted flute. And then, with utmost pleasure, I'll strip your succulent curves of every last golden feather."
A shiver threatened, but I stood firm, meeting the beast’s leering glare. "You waddle on dangerous ground, fowl fiend."
Its sinister chuckle filled the space. "Ah, know me, my precious hen. Alaric Mordant, virile Alpha platypus who demands you as my offering. The one who cherishes you… and your sisters."
Alaric flaunted a suitcase, opening it on a desk to reveal Viola's violin and Lyra's kithara, cushioned among their pilfered indigo and blue feathers. "Your sisters have already enriched my collection. Soon, you will too."
Anger surged within me. "You won't take another feather, not from me or them."
His wicked smirk broadened as he produced noise-canceling headphones. "Your seductive melodies won't sway me now."
I saw the headphones' LED edges light up as he donned and activated them.
His expectant sneer grew. "All I need is for you to play, and my sleep-toxin darts will silence you."
Realization dawned. My sisters' musical powers — Viola's emotional manipulation and Lyra's rhythmic illusions — had been rendered useless against him. But mine? They were different.
I raised my flute.
He waited patiently, relishing his anticipated victory, looking at me as if I were a prized catch, his very own sitting duck.
I started playing a haunting tune. The harmonies amplified, forming a sonic blast.
My signature power, far less subtle than my sisters', flung Alaric forcefully against the wall. His headphones blasted off, leaving him breathless and bloodied.
"That's for Viola," I hissed, letting another wave crash into him.
"And that's for Lyra." I could hear his popping bones as he was further crushed, his labored wheezing betraying a punctured lung.
I approached the desk, inspecting my sisters' plumage and their treasured arcane instruments in the suitcase.
After lighting up a Smoky Serenade to calm my nerves, I called Isabella.
"Flora?" Her voice warbled with concern. "They're still out cold, probably drugged. We're at St. Feather's. Did you manage to track down the sadist?"
"I did, Izzy," I replied, glancing at Alaric. "Send an ambulance and the police. He needs medical attention."
"Flora, you're alright?" she cooed, her relief palpable.
"I am. I'll see you at St. Feather's," I assured her.
I closed the suitcase and walked to the locked door.
Taking one last look at the whimpering Alaric, I played my flute and focused my energy, unleashing another sonic blast on the metal door. It exploded off its hinges.
"Stay the fluck away from us, or the next refrain I play will be your swan song."
Hoisting the suitcase with my sisters' reclaimed instruments, and with their honor vindicated in every stride, I exited the stage.
Frank Alvarez is an engineer originally from Monterrey, Mexico. He blends words, illustrations, and technology to craft narratives evocative of role-playing games. Throughout his life, his passion for storytelling has driven him to create vivid worlds and memorable characters alongside cherished friends. Today, he calls Washington State, USA, his home. Discover his stories in Androids and Dragons.
Right decent!
This was wonderful. Tightly written and very expressive.