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Edgar had found this spot near the Plagueround. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was actually part of the Plagueround or if it simply shared its shifting properties, but the place always seemed to be there whenever he was looking for it.
It was a hole in the ground, deep enough that he couldn’t see the bottom. And yet, it didn’t feel dangerous to stand at its edge. There was no call of the void, no fear of slipping and falling in by accident. Just the strange comfort of infinity, in a way. And the fact that this hole was the only recipient Edgar dared to trust with the deep pain lodged in his chest.
He’d had a particularly rough day. Mr. Moley had criticized the homework Edgar had spent so much time on. During their lesson of Understanding, he had struggled with several exercises while Monty solved them with ease, blabbering something about “rolling high.” Lunch had been terrible, and even his Prestidigitation hadn’t been able to do much about the gooey, almost snot-like consistency of Mr. Mashed Potatoes. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he had slipped and fallen face-first into the mud during Sergeant Lewis’s Control class. Even though she had helped him up afterward and scolded the boys who giggled at his accident, it still felt like the rotten cherry on top of an already shitty day.
So the moment the lesson had ended, Edgar had come here. To this place that somehow felt like the only real comfort he had lately - while also making him feel more alone than ever before. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he dropped to his knees beside the hole, unconcerned with ruining his already muddy trousers. He buried his face in his hands. A few sobs forced their way out of his throat before he took a deep breath and gathered the strength to unleash a shrieking scream straight into the void.
For a split second, Edgar heard the echo of his own scream before it was swallowed by the depths below. He drew in another breath to let out a second scream, longer and louder than the first. His throat burned, and between attempts to scream, sobs bubbled up, forcing him to cough and double over. He braced himself with his hands at the edge of the hole, gasping desperately for air, and screamed again.
It hurt his vocal cords. It hurt his throat. It even hurt his ears, the way his own shrilly cry left behind a faint ringing. But none of that compared to the deep chasm Poe’s death had torn into Edgar’s chest.
The little crow-menace had slowly carved his way into Edgar’s heart - hurting him, distracting him, teasing him, watching him, protecting him, helping him, saving his life.
Technically, Edgar knew that Poe had annoyed him for most of the time they’d known each other. But the bond that forms when you fight a hellpincer together, stand up against unjust detention, and defeat a monster threatening the school goes far deeper than initial mockery and petty quarrels.
Poe had meant a lot to Edgar. More than he would ever have admitted to his friends. And even though Kevin, Monty, and Roland were incredible friends, they all had their own battles to fight. Poe had just been… his. His tormentor, his companion, his curse - but also his friend. Having him ripped out of Edgar’s life just as they had finally begun to get along felt cruel. Unfair. Like the ground had been torn out from beneath his feet.
By now, Edgar was fully sobbing - tears and snot running down his face, vision blurred, throat raw. Between sobs, it was hard to even gasp for air as the deep, aching pain tightened around his throat. Losing Poe had left him with a crushing, hollow loneliness.
And yes, there was the little egg that somehow always stayed close to him—but it wasn’t a replacement for his crow companion. It was just an egg. And the fact that its presence didn’t comfort him made everything worse. He felt guilty toward the small life growing inside it. Guilty that he couldn’t cherish it the way he wanted to. And guilty toward Poe, as if he had replaced him with something else.
It all felt like it was crushing him. Edgar’s head swam with too many emotions at once, too tangled to sort through. So instead, he gasped for air and let out another pained, hoarse scream into the hole. The sound - and the burn in his throat - dulled the ache in his chest just a little. Still, it took a long time before he found the strength to pull himself up, mutter a half-hearted “Prestidigitation” to clean his face and clothes, and trudge back toward the school with slumped shoulders.
And even though Edgar had never been religious and didn’t believe in an afterlife - no matter how much Roland tried to convince him with stories about the Better Book and its contents - some small part of him still hoped that Poe’s soul was somewhere out there. And maybe, just maybe, Poe missed Edgar just as much as Edgar missed him.