The Owl

In the underworld the air was dense, watchful. I wasn't allowed to bring anything back. That was the rule. And yet I did. I remember its weight in my hand— small, precise, undeniable — held close, as if it could hear my heart. I was heading back when I felt footsteps behind me. Not fast at first. Certain. I ran not knowing where. The ground uneven, the light wrong, the air turning foul. Fear narrowed to clarity, my heart loud in my chest. Just when it was about to reach — my body shifted, feathers broke through my skin. Arms remembered something older than hands. I soared toward the sky. The presence fell away as I rose. Below me, the underworld kept its order and its laws. I could feel it in my claws. Shimmering. Not mine to keep.