Archive of Our Own

The midnight breeze acted as a calming measure for Phil. His erratic hours as a farmer were stressful, but in the end he was able to savor the moment of walking back through his fields and into his cozy farmhouse. 

He stepped over the tall yellow prairie grass, but froze when he heard an unusual noise in the undergrowth. It was the melancholic caw of a crow crying out from within the field. Phil looked longingly over at his house before turning around and trudging through the field, using his senses more than anything to find this crow in the dark. 

It didn’t take long for the sound to become so loud it was basically in his ear. He bent down and found the pretty little crow, its slick black wings bent in the wrong direction. Phil cooed, scooping the bird and pulling it close to his arms, cradling it gently. “Are you alright? You poor thing; I can get you fixed up in no time.” 

The crow didn’t respond, just nudging its head against his finger as he petted its head. There was something enchanting about this bird-- a bird that was commonly associated with death and bad luck, but looking at it now he could only feel pure beauty wave off it.

He hurried back to his house, no longer appreciating the midnight breeze and feeling an urgent need to enter his house and save this bird. 

He slammed the door shut and placed the bird on his small dining table with care. The crow cawed worriedly as he walked away to light a candle in the dark room. 

He brought the light back, setting it down next to the crow as he assessed the damage. The crow didn’t seem to be in all that much pain anymore, now more strangely curious about its new surroundings. The crow craned its neck around, looking at the small archway that led to the small living room, the busy counters in his kitchen and the colorful cabinets. 

Phil still had his bandages laying on the table from when he gave himself a nasty cut on his old metal rake. He pulled a small piece off with his teeth and grabbed the crow’s dainty wing, lifting it with care before wrapping the bandage tightly around the wound. “There, all better. Do you feel better?” 

Maybe it was the tiredness from the daily labor that bled into the night, but Phil could swear he saw the crow nod at him, as if it were actually responding to him. 

He didn’t really harp on it. 

He brought the crow to his bedroom, laying it down on his second pillow, then went to his closet to change into his pajamas. He left the room momentarily to head out back to wash his face among other things, then returned. 

The crow made itself comfy on the pillow, inching towards the pillow Phil had planned to use for his own head. He let out a laugh as he slipped into the covers, blowing out the bedside candle in the process. “Good night, little crow.” 

The crow chirped quietly, and Phil closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion wipe him out. 

When he woke up, the window was mysteriously open and the crow was gone. 

Phil heaved himself up, feeling the pressure of harvesting season and the impending winter on his back. The house felt frozen on his feet as he padded into the kitchen for a cup of warm coffee. Phil stopped in his tracks when he heard a soft knock on his front door. 

Phil’s eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw who was at the door. 

A young woman, around his age, stood with a wide smile and bright eyes stood at his door. She was stunning with mid length brown hair tied in a braid with a lily of the valley tucked in and a warm complexion. She wore a buttoned long sleeve blouse and a sharp black skirt.

“Can I-- uh… Can I help you?” Phil asked after repeatedly clearing his throat. 

“I’m Kristin!” she said.

“Uh… Phil?” 

“Phil. Good name. Sturdy, basic. Very good name.” Phil couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him or genuinely thought Phil was a good name. He didn’t think too much of it, especially since it was the least of his worries. 

Phil’s farm was a few kilometers away from the nearest town, and it was walled off by a small forest, making it an unlikely destination for any visitors at all. So the fact that a young woman just randomly showed up at his doorstep was…Worrying to say the least. “I’m sorry, but are you lost?” 

“Lost?” laughed Kristin. “No, no. I came here to see you again.”

“Again? I think I would remember seeing someone as beautiful as you.” Phil’s entire body lost air the moment he realized what he said. “I mean--” 

“Aw, you’re so sweet! Hey Phil, can I come in? It’s kind of cold out here.” Phil wordlessly widened the door, stepping aside and allowing Kristin to come in. She rubbed her palms together as she entered deeper into the house, quick to make herself at home. 

“Is there something I can help with?” 

Kristin turned to face Phil, her facial expression turning serious. She grabbed his hand and wrapped it in her own, bringing it to her chest. “I’ve come to be your wife.” 

“What.” 

This was a first for Phil. Nobody had ever proposed to him-- and conversely he’d never proposed to anyone. His family had lived on this farm for generations, and the only people he’d really ever interact with were those he went to school with as a child and the farmer’s market consumers. Eligible young women were pretty hard to find in these parts. 

And here one was with the appearance of an ethereal being, and she was asking to be his wife? Well, asking was the political way to put it. It sounded like she was announcing their marriage. 

“So?” she prompted, moving closer to him so their noses were practically touching. Her enchanting chocolate eyes caught Phil’s in a trance.

“Uh… If you really want to…” 

Kristin released him, squealing with excitement. “Excellent! I’ll be back in the evening for the wedding!” Phil couldn’t even get another word in before she ran out of the house and down the path, getting lost behind Phil’s crops and the wall of trees. 

Phil’s feet moved him outside, a part of him worried about the poor woman. He wondered if there was a screw loose, coming to a random farmer’s house and proposing to him. Perhaps she was joking around. Still, he wouldn’t mind being married to a woman like that-- someone with an infectious smile and the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh just from hearing it.

Phil dressed himself in an old work shirt and strapped on his boots as he set off into the field, ready to continue to tear through his measly harvest. The year hadn’t been kind to him, and a whole field ended in crop failure. He’d already come to terms with the fact that he’d be a little hungry during this winter, but he was sure what he did have would be enough to live on.

He worked through the whole day, forgoing lunch and any sort of breaks. By the time was setting, he was as tired as an old dog but still had plenty of work to do. He had no intention of stopping until he heard a familiar greeting.

“Phil! Hey, Phil! I’m back!” 

The farmer whipped around to see Kristin returning with a massive bouquet of flowers, dressed in a beautiful white gown. In a strange turn of events, a murder of crows landed behind her, each holding different flowers in their beaks. 

“Kristin?” he called, unsure of what he was really seeing. She was serious?

“Yes, Phil?” 

“You’re in a wedding gown,” he noted dumbly. 

“This is how weddings work, right? I’m sure I got this part right.” Not quite an assuring response, but at least he knew Kristin was serious about the wedding bit. He had half a mind to talk her out of it. Being a poor farmer’s wife wasn’t an easy life… But it got lonely out here. He wouldn’t mind some company, especially a character like this, and she seemed to really want this. 

Phil finally gathered the courage to approach her, gently grabbing her hand. “I don’t have much to offer, but if you’ll have me--” 

“Of course I’ll have you, Phil! Don’t be silly. Come on, we have to exchange vows, right? That’s what turns a wedding into a marriage, right?” 

Phil didn’t argue. Not like he’d ever been married before. “Okay. I vow to… Have and to hold, love and cherish, for rich or food poor, in sickness and health.” 

“I, Kristin, take thee, Phil, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” 

And with the crows and the sunset as their witness, they sealed their bond with a kiss. 

The snow piled up by the door, making it near impossible to exit the farmhouse. They were running low on firewood, and even worse, food. 

Kristin sat in Phil’s armchair, her feet propped up by an ottoman as she rubbed her growing abdomen with fondness. She was a few months along now, due near the beginning of summer. Kristin kept telling Phil they were twins, but he didn’t believe it. She always claimed it was a ‘mother’s instinct’ telling her, but Phil just thought it was one baby with an extremely powerful kick. 

Since he couldn’t do much due to the volatile winter weather, Phil had taken to waiting upon Kristin hand and foot. He maintained the fire best he could, always bringing her her favorite beverages and rubbing her feet even when she hadn’t gotten up in hours. 

Still, he couldn’t offer up much in terms of meals, which was extremely worrying considering Kristin’s conditions. It was something that kept him up at night. 

He knew he would barely be getting by just by himself, but adding a whole wife to the equation just scrambled the whole thing up. Not to mention a kid on the way (he could not even fathom if Kristin was right and two came out). 

Phil entered the room with a bowl of steaming chicken soup, setting it down on the table beside the chair. “Eat up, love.” 

“What about you?” she asked, staring at the soup with hunger in her eyes. She didn’t dare grab the spoon yet. 

“I’ll eat later, but you have to eat now. It’s not healthy for you to be so inconsistent with your meals.” He practically shoved the spoon in her mouth at her continued hesitance. Phil worried how much she knew-- did she know how little he could provide for her? Would she one day come to her senses and leave him after he’d gotten so used to waking up to that smile? 

He didn’t know if he could bear it. He would’ve rather wished she’d never come into his life than just have her leave. 

So he’d forego as many meals as possible and cut down as many trees if it meant keeping Kristin happy. 

He went to bed with a grumbling stomach, and when he woke up, Kristin was gone. 

He felt around the sheets, running around the house like a madman, calling her name as if it were the only word in his vocabulary. Phil fumbled the knob on the front door, slamming it open, looking around the barren wasteland outside.

He felt the relief wash over him as he saw her in the distance. She wore a heavy black coat, holding a heavy sack of something. He didn’t know what from this distance, but he was about to find out. He ran to meet her in his bare feet, barely allowing himself to feel the frozen ice burn at the soles of his feet. 

“Kristin, what’re you doing? What-- what is that?” 

“It’s a bag of potatoes.” 

“I see that now. Wha--” 

“You always do so much for me, Phil. I’m here to help! This bag of potatoes will never be empty. Cool, right?” 

Phil nodded absent-mindedly as he guided his wife back into the warmth of the home. He assumed that this was another one of his wife’s hyperboles, which she made quite often. She was always so certain of the extraordinary. Sometimes it made one want to have faith, and at other times, scoff at her silliness. 

Still, a bag of potatoes was a bag of potatoes. 

He shut the door quietly and guided Kristin into the living room, taking the potato sack from her grasp.

“I’ll make us a nice meal tonight,” she called from the other room while he was in the kitchen. 

“I can cook Kristin. You just rest up.” 

Kristin leaned on the archway of the kitchen. “Come on! I can help! Besides, look at your feet! You need to sit by the fire for a little.” Phil did as she asked, looking down at his feet. They were as red as a ripe tomato, and he was beginning to feel the after-effects of his desperation. 

He allowed Kristin to sit him in the armchair and prop his feet up on the ottoman, allowing the fire to warm him up. “Sometimes you’re too kind for your own good, Phil,” she murmured as she pressed a kiss in his hair. He felt guilty all of a sudden, like a liar. He was not kind; he was greedy. He wanted her and everything she brought and he was not ready to let it go-- a couple of freezing feet was nothing to the frozen vacancy that would remain if she were to ever leave. 

Come evening and Kristin did in fact prepare a potato pie, and Phil was able to go to bed fully fed for once this winter. They would be fine for the rest of the week with that sack of potatoes, but once it was gone, he’d be hungry again. 

Phil was first to wake up, and he went straight to the kitchen. The sack of potatoes hadn’t moved from the side of the counter where he left it the day before, but it looked peculiarly similar to when Kristin had first brought it in rather than when she had already taken a couple out. To be sure, he opened the bag a little, shocked to find it filled to the brim. 

She hadn’t been exaggerating. This bag of potatoes never emptied. 

He ran back to their bedroom, crouching next to her sleeping form as he shook her awake. “Kristin!” he whispered excitedly. Her eyes fluttered open before falling on him. “Kristin, you were right! The potato bag never empties.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I lie about something like that?” 

Phil didn’t actually have an answer to that, so he skipped over it entirely. “We’re going to make it through the winter! And the little ones will be--” 

“Little ones?” she interrupted, her eyes glittering with humor. “Now you admit they’re twins?” 

“I will never doubt anything you say again, my life.” 

The little ones were born twenty one days before the summer solstice. 

Twin boys.

 The first one to come out had wispy pink hair and Phil’s icy eyes, while the younger by three minutes came out looking like a replica of Kristin. Kristin informed him that pink hair was actually a common trait in her family line. 

They had agonized over names for days before the two were born. It didn’t feel right to name them before they saw their faces and experienced them as people, so they held off. But looking into their little faces, it became clear. 

For the eldest, Technoblade. In the Ancient Tongues, it meant ‘warrior,’ and for the younger, Wilbur, a name that meant ‘song’ in the same language. 

The day they were born, the farm was surrounded by a sea of crows.

Technoblade and Wilbur were not easy babies. Techno was mostly silent, but that just made it harder to figure out when he was hungry or needed a diaper change, while Wilbur never stopped crying. If he did stop crying, it was probably just to eat. It seemed like the youngest member of their family had a grievance with everything. 

Kristin and Phil worked the fields with the boys strapped to their chests, giving them little hats to keep them out of the intense sun. Phil had wanted Kristin to stay inside and take care of the boys, or even he would do it, but Kristin insisted that the two of them worked the fields together. 

“It’s a family bonding experience,” she argued. “Think of how much work we can get done when it’s the two of us. I know you’re used to working crazy hours alone, but now we’re together! With our little ones!” 

Working with Kristin was like gaining workers rights. She made sure he took breaks, drank water, bandaged himself immediately when he got injured. He had to work more carefully with little Techno strapped to his front, but it also made him more efficient. 

They worked like a team for five years. The spring and summer were spent preparing and planting the fields, the autumn for harvesting and selling their goods, and winter to relax and eat from their unlimited potato sack. Techno in particular had a taste for the starch plant. He liked them so much he ate one raw, almost breaking his fragile baby teeth in the process. 

It seemed, though, with the continued years that Phil’s soil kept deteriorating in quality. A little crop failure slowly turned into a whole lot, and they had less and less to sell at the farmer’s market each year. The potatoes kept them fed, but they needed the money for other things. Taxes, school fees, buying seeds to replant the fields, and making room for the growing twins.

Kristin, with her otherworldly senses, rubbed his shoulders and rested her head against his back late in the night after the twins were put to bed, whispering softly, “We’re having another one.” 

That gave Phil a fright. 

“Are you serious? Is this real?” 

She cocked her head to the side as if she were a bird. “Why would I lie?”

“Right. You would never.” 

“Now you’re starting to get it! I’ll tell you this: it’s only one this time.” Though that put Phil at ease, his empty pockets continued to worry him. They managed to get through the poor harvest and the winter just fine, and in late spring, their new addition arrived.

It was a grueling home birth. They had invited a midwife, not that they had the money for it, and in a labor that lasted a day and a night, another beautiful boy popped out. 

Kristin had nearly fallen asleep and never woken back up. 

Phil did not leave her bedside once, and neither did the crows outside that waited with bated breath. 

This little ball of sunshine was like looking at a mirror for Phil. Fluffy blonde locks and cerulean eyes peered back at him and gripped his soul. ‘Theseus’ was what they named him; in the Ancient Tongues it meant ‘survivor.’ 

It was a hard name on the twins’ developing vocabularies, so just like how they shortened Technoblade down to Techno, they turned Theseus into Tommy. 

Tommy was most like Wilbur as a baby. He was always making a sound-- not necessarily crying, though. He laughed a lot. He sounded a lot like Kristin. 

Despite Phil’s fiscal anxieties, he was truly happy. He had a wife and three precious boys. It wasn’t perfect-- nothing was, but it was nice. Beautiful, even. 

Techno and Wilbur had just turned eight when the locusts came and destroyed Phil’s crop for good. There was no saving it, not even Kristin’s strange solutions could turn back time and save them from the swarm. 

He kneeled in front of his fields-- his life's work!-- and wept, grabbing at the dirt and throwing it harshly. Kristin came up behind him and wrapped a comforting arm around him, letting his head fall into the crook of her neck. 

“It’s all gone,” he croaked. 

“I know,” she soothed. “It’ll be fine.” 

“How can it be? I can’t… I can’t…” If he couldn’t provide for Kristin, for his boys, what was stopping them from leaving? What was keeping them here?

“Trust me,” she said. “Give me a week, and I will solve our problems, okay?” 

In the haze of devastation, Phil only nodded and allowed his wife to bring him inside. He put on a brave face for his boys, who looked at him with such admiration, he couldn’t bear to tell them he didn’t deserve it. 

At dinner, Kristin served potato stew and sat them all down. “My little birds, mama has to hide in her room for a week, so I need you to be good and not disturb me. Can you do that?” 

Techno munched on his dinner, nodding along as if it didn’t concern him. Wilbur inquired further.

“What are you going to do? Is papa staying?” 

“Papa stays,” Kristin agreed. 

“Mm, okay. Can do!” 

Techno held up a thumb in approval. 

Tommy cried. 

So it went; Phil made a bed on the couch and tucked himself in. Kristin gave him a last good night kiss before leaving for their bedroom for the week. She was adamant about no questions being asked and that he could not, under any circumstances, peek in on what she was doing. 

Phil knew better than to cross his wife at this point. 

He pulled the blanket over his shoulder and tried to get comfy on the lumpy couch. He felt a weight on his leg and turned his head slightly to see Techno clinging to his foot like his life depended on it. “What’re you doing, mate? Why aren’t you in bed?” 

Techno shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.” 

“Come on, back to bed--” Phil cut off when a pillow covered his face. 

“He can’t see you Techno, so he can’t get you!” 

Wilbur.

His middle child left the pillow over his face and jumped on Phil’s abdomen, causing Phil to regret ever having kids in the first place (he wouldn’t trade them for the world). 

The third and final weight was placed on the pillow over Phil’s head. “Wil, can you get Tommy off my face? It’s hard to breathe,” Phil requested, but it was muffled by the pillow pressed into his face. 

Wilbur sighed dramatically and pulled Tommy off, drawing the toddler into his chest, resting his chin in his hair. Phil removed the pillow and observed the three boys. 

“So what’s mama doin’?” Techno finally asked. 

“Secret.” 

“I can keep ‘em.” 

“It’s her secret to tell, not mine.” Techno allowed himself to fall into the trench between the wall of the couch and Phil’s legs. With a rush of vengeance, Techno kicked Phil’s legs off the couch with brutal force. 

“Techno!” 

“What are you, my dad?” His eldest scoffed. 

“Yes!” 

Phil threw the blanket off of him and scooped his boys up, heaving these three great weights back to their bedroom. All three of them unfortunately had to share a room. They had no money to upgrade the house. 

Phil was an only child, so this was never much a problem for them-- they cleared out the storage room for him, just as Phil had done for his own children, but that’s all he could do. 

Phil dropped Tommy off in his crib before throwing the older boys back in their beds, pressing a kiss to their foreheads before blowing out the candlelight and shutting the door. His gaze lingered on the room across the hall-- his own-- but ultimately went back to the couch, and let his eyes close. 

These seven days were some of the toughest. Kristin and he had never been apart for longer than a few hours, but suddenly he was not allowed to reach her for an entire week. It was assuring to know she was in the house, but it felt like he was living in an eclipse-- as if his sun had forsaken him. 

He went through the motions of the day, getting the boys ready, watching them play in the fields, feeding them. During the week, Techno and Wilbur made the treacherous journey to the schoolhouse in town and he was left alone with Tommy, who couldn’t do much but crawl and babble. 

He was still a very interesting baby.

After seven nights on the couch, the door to his bedroom finally opened, and his wife appeared, though she did not look much like the wife he remembered. She looked more haggard: sunken eyes and cracked lips, dry hands and chipped nails. 

He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. “What did you do to yourself?” he asked. 

“I’ve solved our problems.” From behind her back, Kristin pulled out a shiny black dress. It was the most elegant thing Phil had ever laid his eyes on. 

“Wha--?” 

“Go to the market and sell it for a high price. People will know its worth.” She practically pushed him out the door, Wilbur and Techno following like little ducks so they could hitch a ride to school. She waved goodbye as the wagon departed from their homestead.

At the farmer’s market he set up shop, and was quickly surrounded by many rich merchants, praising the detail and quality of the dress. They started throwing exorbitant numbers at him, the likes of Phil had never even dreamed of. Perhaps he didn’t have the eye for it, but the dress was lovely but he wasn’t sure it was that much. It felt almost like a scam. Well, his wife did say sell it for a high price. 

In the end, it sold for a thousand gold coins which was paid up front. 

When he returned from town with the bag of coins, Kristin was passed out on the couch clutching Tommy tightly to her chest. 

“Kristin,” he called softly. Tommy raised his head, putting a finger to his lips with a grin. 

“Shh. Mama tired.” 

“I know, mate, but this is important.” 

Kristin stirred before groggily smiling at him. “You’ve returned,” she said. 

“A thousand,” he said, dropping the pouch of coins on the table. “We’re basically set for life.” 

“Don’t think like that, my love. All money runs out. Use this money to buy new farm lands, get some help on the fields.” 

Phil listened to his wife. The next day he went back into town to buy the forest that walled off his farm from town. The mayor thanked him. “I’ve been waiting for a reason to cut down that forest. I’m glad someone’s taking the responsibility off my hands.” 

 He also hired a group of men to cut down the forest and help plow the fields. There wasn’t a lot of time left in the year for crops, but he was sure there was something he could grow in time for harvest season. 

When he returned, he announced the good news at dinner, but the reactions were quite unexpected. “What do you mean you’re tearing down the forest?” Kristin screeched. “Go back! You can’t do that!” 

“What do you mean? You told me to expand--” 

“The other way! Go the other way, Phil! That forest is… Well, it’s important!” 

“I’m sorry, Kristin, the deal’s been made. I’m having people come down tomorrow to help clear it out.” 

“Papa, that forest is magic! You can’t tear it down!” Wilbur whined.

“Magic? Wil, there’s no such thing--” 

“Mama said so! Are  you calling mama a liar?” 

“N-no. I would never call your mother a liar.” 

“Phil, tell them to call it off.”  

“I can’t, Kris. I’m sorry. We need this. You know that. But listen, now that we have the money, what about extending the house, huh?” He turned to the boys. “How would you like to get your own rooms?” 

“I’ll allow it,” said Techno. Wilbur hit his arm playfully. “Hey, I’d like more room for a bookshelf.” 

“Bookshelf? We can do a bookshelf, Tech. We can get you all the books you want.” 

“I want a guitar!” Wilbur piped up. 

“Knife!” Tommy babbled. 

“We’ll do it all tomorrow. We’ll all go to the market.” 

It was strange for them to go out to town as consumers rather than providers. They were there to spend. On the way, they stopped to say hello to some friends-- Sneeg set up his stall in his usual place, waving them over as they passed. 

“Well if it isn’t the Crafts. Are you shoppers today?” 

“That we are,” said Phil. “We hit big yesterday.” 

“Lucky, lucky,” Sneeg replied. He peered over at Kristin, whose face was covered by a wide brimmed hat. “Kristin, are you alright? You’re lookin’ a little…” 

“It’s been a hard week in the house,” Phil lied. “The walk does her good.” 

Sneeg shrugged. They ended up buying some necessary materials for Techno’s bookshelf at Sneeg’s and then continued on to a stall that sold instruments. The stall owner had a daughter that offered music lessons as well, so they put down a deposit for Wilbur to start learning the next week. 

The twins skipped ahead with joy.

“I feel guilty about spending so much money so soon,” Phil confessed. 

Kristin patted his arm. “We’ll get our returns on the field. Besides, if need be I can always make another dress.”
“I don’t think I could bear another seven days away from you.” 

“But look at all we’ve been able to do.” 

“Okay,” Phil hummed in agreement. “But only if it really comes to it, y’know?”

The second time Kristin had to enter the bedroom was at the end of autumn. The forest crew ran into complications cutting down the forest, and they weren’t able to re-seed the field in time to wield any sort of profit. 

A thousand gold coins were quickly drained through house remodeling, deforestation, and the proper payment of workers across the field and the forest, not to mention the payment for the land itself. 

Kristin had half recovered from the first dress, but their lack of wealth concerned Phil , and so it concerned her more. 

These seven days were harder than the first. He barely felt there at most times, the only thing anchoring him down were his sons. They played board games in the evening and made snowmen during the day. Tommy was graduating from crawling to walking, and suddenly he was a worse menace than he was on four legs. 

At the end of the seven days, Kristin came out, a new black dress splayed out on the bed. She somehow looked worse than she did the first time. She appeared more emaciated and the color in her cheeks were barely there-- she looked like death. 

It was as if the dress had stolen all her beauty. It was slick and charming, like the stars themselves were weaved into the fabric.

“A high price, right?” he chuckled, looking at the dress in awe. 

“Right,” she hummed. 

This one far outsold the first one. The merchant he sold to pulled him aside after the transaction. He was a tall man with mutton chops and a sharp suit. “Listen, I fought for the first dress and didn’t win, so I’m glad I got this one.” 

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” Phil replied politely. 

“Yes, yes, well I wonder where you’ve been getting them.”

“My wife. She’s… She’s a talented seamstress.” 

“I’d like to be your seller. What I mean is: I’ll provide you with the means to sell the dresses on a wider level, and I’ll pay you a percentage of the sale. I’ve got big stores in the city, y’know.” Phil wasn’t one for business, but it sounded like a sweet deal. The merchant said the dress was ‘couture’-- you make less of them and they sell for more. “Does she need more material? How does she make them?” 

“I don’t really know… I’m not allowed to ask.” 

“Hm. What a magical woman, then.” 

He arrived home in time for dinner, but he stayed silent when asked about the details. He stuffed his mouth full of roast beef but left his mashed potato untouched, the full bag of potatoes reposed behind him, an accusation of ungratefulness shooting daggers into his back. 

When they were settled for bed, he told her what the merchant said. “I just think,” he added, “that we should have a steady income instead of always going broke at the end of the month.” 

That was a hard thing to argue with. “When do you want me to start again?” 

“Get better first. We’re not in a rush.” 

The next week, Phil was once again locked out of his bedroom. That was alright because he had prepared a cot in Tommy’s room to sleep in. Their house had grown another floor where Techno and Wilbur moved, while Tommy kept the original room.  

He’d gotten used to sleeping without Kristin, not that it was something he enjoyed, but suddenly it was something unbearable. He felt empty. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing in that room all that time. He knew she didn’t eat or drink because the door never opened, and frankly, he was a little concerned about the status of her bladder. 

He didn’t open the door that night. It was the one thing she asked of him. 

…But the second night it was harder to resist. He had tucked the boys into bed and headed down the stairs, passing his bedroom door. He stood in front of it for a few minutes, his hand hovering over the doorknob before heading into Tommy’s room, blowing out the candle light. 

The third night was the night of mortal mistakes. 

He thought he heard a noise-- something unnatural, something concerning. He pressed his ear to the door before building up the courage to open the door slightly and peek his head in. She wouldn’t even notice. 

His eye peered through the crack, a gasp caught in his throat.

His wife, his darling, darling wife’s back was covered in dark feathers, poking out of her skin and some strange appendages that sprouted from her back. He took a step back, the old floorboard creaking as he moved.
Kristin’s head whipped around, and Phil knew he had been caught. 

The door flew open with a bang, surely rustling the children out of their beds. Kristin did not move from her spot in the threshold, staring Phil down with a predatory gaze. Those eyes he cherished were not human anymore, but were reminiscent of the beady eyes of a bird he saved all those years ago…

“You,” he shuddered. “You’re the crow.” 

She did not deny it. 

“But why? How--” 

“I wanted to repay your kindness.” She stepped forward, grabbing one of Phil’s hands, her nails-- no, talons-- tracing patterns on the back of his hand. “We were happy, weren’t we? The way things were was fine. But I ruined it.” 

“You ruined it?” 

“You got greedy, Phil.” 

“No.” 

“You did. Would I lie?” she cocked her head to the side, a familiar characteristic, but now Phil knew where it came from. He shook his head. She had never lied to him. “I cannot stay any longer.” 

Phil’s blood froze.

No.

This was the worst case scenario. He did all of this-- all of this was to keep her happy-- and maybe along the way he lost sight of it-- perhaps when he pushed her too far or rejected her potatoes-- but he just wanted to see her happy. All of them. 

“You can’t,” he choked out.

“I’m sorry, Phil.” 

“You vowed. Are you going back on your vows?” 

The two of them turned their heads at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Two little heads peeked out, sadness sweeping over their faces rather than shock at seeing what their mother had become. As if they always knew. 

Because they did. They were her little birds. 

“Mama, you can’t go!” Wilbur cried, his tears soaking his mother’s skirt while Techno approached from behind Wilbur, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. 

“Are you really going to leave the children?” he accused. He ripped his hand out of her grasp, instead gripping her shoulders tightly. “You’re a bird, so you can be caged. I don’t want to have to do that to you, Kristin, but I will.”

She shook him off. She shook them all off, backing away quickly. She unlatched the window and threw it open, raising her leg and jumping off from the ledge, her human body morphing into a swirl of feathers until she was nothing but a crow again, flying off into the direction of the fallen forest. 

The leaves crinkled under the heavy boot of the hunter. He kept a tight hand on his shotgun. Even the slightest noise caused him to take arms. Forests weren’t unfamiliar to him-- over the past seven years he visited virtually every forest in the area. 

In the tallest tree, he heard a familiar caw. 

One he had not heard in these seven years.

He aimed the barrel of the gun in the trees, and with a quick pull of the trigger, a shot rang out. A small figure fell from the branches, and Phil was quick to catch it in his desperate hands. 

The beautiful crow that had evaded him all these years was finally back in his hands. Her wing was bleeding profusely and she was chirping feverishly, as if she knew what was about to happen. 

“Hello, Kristin. I’ve come to repay your kindness,” he greeted with a bitter heart. He pulled out a small pair of scissors and began to clip at the feathers until flying was just a fleeting dream. 

From behind them, their three sons approached. The twins now towered over their father at sixteen, while Tommy was a little beanstalk at eleven. Techno’s gun was resting on his shoulder, letting it hit his neck occasionally as a nervous tick. Wilbur’s gun was slung around his back, his left hand gripping Tommy’s tightly. 

“Mama?” Tommy called, reaching his hand out to touch the crow. She cowered into Phil’s hands as her youngest patted her head with a gentleness unseen in the other two children.

“Yes,” Phil cooed, “This is your mama, finally returning home to us.”