There was a beauty in winter that Livano had always admired. The world appeared to be asleep, waiting, curled up under snow and frost, waiting to burst to life come spring. His own flourishing garden was cozied beneath pure white drifts, the heightless trees which surrounded his cabin sprinkled with ethereal silver powder.

Normally, he would have been outside, bearing the cold with a self-made cotton coat, his rosary held tight against his chest as he listened to his little boy laughing. Those green eyes twinkling with youth as pale, young hands threw snow about the snowglobe world. Livano would chase after his son, the snow parting for him almost unnaturally as tiny flowers grew from the few exposed patches of grass which had been disturbed by the footprints of father and son. He would pick up his boy, spinning him about the silver glade, dancing to a melody only he could hear, laughing and pretending as if nothing in the world could tear them apart, Magic or no.

Only a tear slid down his cheek as he gazed out over the untouched snow, slowly turning to ice and causing the coatless hermit to shiver in the blistering chill. His jaded eyes searched and observed the small animals scampering about, collecting their berries and food from the snow and from the plants which had still been laid heavily with unharvest. Livano could not bear to go out now and attempt to harvest, not without a sound permeating the silent air.

The animals seemed to carry a music with them, a memory that Livano wished that he could restore and hold close to his heart. The crucifix of his rosary he held tightly between his hands, whispering a prayer that only he and the wild forest could hear. His bare feet felt no chill from the frost, as instead green life spread from his place, growing up the sides of the doorframe and opening tiny buds of pink and white, twin roses, as if blood and snow, mourning what could have been, and knowing what should be done; yet Livano could not bring himself to do it.

A raven perched in a high treetop let out a single call, and Livano wearily looked to it, and the figure which was now perched in the branches, silver eyes watching without feeling. The world blurring as he turned away, throat tightening with bitterness, Livano placed his hand upon the thorns of the twin roses, caring not for the pain as they pierced skin. Crimson dripped upon the snow, and from the scarlet, poppies opened their tender petals.

Pulling his cotton cloak about him, Livano began his journey, trudging through the snow as it parted for him, the freak creation of his broken heart. No sooner had he crossed the forest line, warm sun parted the clouds, melting what remained of the ice upon his brow and drying the last of his tears. The firm face of a father had materialized upon the gentle hermit, along with the rage which comes of harming a father's child.

The rosary slipped from flower-entwined fingers, falling to verdant grass as the hermit threw his arms as if to absorb the golden light. His jaded eyes, while misted, were assured, and his knees, through weak, were bending to take step after step towards the small town which he now had business with.

Overhead, the black raven wheeled in the sky, as golden light spread from the hermit's arms, travelling his entire body, feathering, spreading, making his arms strong, his face that of an eagle. Broad, coppery golden wings praised the sun, amber eyes flecked with emerald widened, and the hermit's new form, a Giant Golden Eagle, took to the sky, noting the snow which topped the trees in his forest and the warm, innocent light which graced the town, the burned remains of a cross and pyre in the center of the town, and the unknowing people below, who felt no pain, no tragedy for what crime they had committed.

With an eagle's scream, he flew for the largest of these houses, slamming the windows open with a heavy gust of wind and landing within, his feathers sloughing off in droves as he focused his attention upon the chair which stood behind the desk of the one responsible for his pain. 

Placing his full hand upon the closed door to this office, Livano willed the forest to be with him here, calling upon binding vines to seal him within, so that he would be prepared for the confrontation he had to attend to. Even as he crossed to the chair, flowers, thorns, small saplings grew in his wake, and as he took his place in the chair behind the desk, his cape thrown over one shoulder, his modest clothing and meager appearance made him a peasant in the eyes of a stranger. But he knew. Livano knew that his account with the sinner would be made good upon, his eyes dark and without a smile.

He had been Lied to, and though his son had been the one to receive punishment, Livano refused to let the sinner be left unpunished, even if He was already calling the hermit to him. Livano had one final matter to attend to.

He would willingly go to his death, burning at the stake as a witch, should that be his fate. But not before tolling his price upon the one who had snuffed out the innocent one in his life; his sun.

Fratercide. The elder twin of Livano's boy. The son that They had kept, and whose counterpart, the acclaimed "Devil's Child" Livano had rescued from death and raised instead. The boy with hidden Magic, Magic that Livano should have known would have spelled death upon his child's brow.

The door suddenly burst open and a young man with a face so like Livano's son appeared; blue eyes instead of green. Livano turned away, closing his eyes from his seat behind the desk which had sentenced his boy to die. "Ah, Marchon. We have much reason and subject to speak upon." 

"You."

"Me." Livano averted his eyes as the man glanced about the room, witnessing the witchcraft that had been wrought at the hermit's hand. Finally glaring at his son's murderer, the twin who had been acclaimed holy, Livano allowed a snakish smile to cross his face as his eyes lit with green fire. "Close the door and take a seat." He indicated to the chair in which the hermit had found himself often. The tables had turned.

Outside the window, a black raven peered in inquisitively with silver eyes like mercury, watching one of His own stand against His command, and though He was well pleased with him, He knew that this would not be the hermit's only sin. The road was black and ragged ahead, paved with pain.

Black wings fluttered, and the Raven vanished into the light of the midday sun.