BAD-001
Barista: Rachel Rosethorn
Date: Jan-2-2020
Receipt: BAD-001
Subject: Omens
A crow has called, its voice so dire—an omen borne by a squawking choir. It perched upon my window sill, black eyes gleaming, sharp and still.
It cawed, and cawed, a foreboding song, then vanished, gone as quick as it came along. Its tune was spun in measured four, weaving Fate’s threads evermore.
I knew those rhymes, those echoes old—Words once whispered by the Cold. Yet this agent did not seem tethered by gelid grips, merely Fate’s own voice upon crow’s lips.
So heed now what the corvid crooned, lest omens lost leave us marooned.
Blades bright with blood, apple-red
Scattered shores span end to end
Deep down dark where crows descend
Lantern lone in lasting smoke
Marching men bang mighty drums
A procession of peculiar folk
In clouded clamor where toads do croak
Storms stir high sounding war
Hades hungers in halls below
Oceans open with ominous roar
On stygian skies where eagles soar
Frost falls fast and many die
When Fenrir’s fetters fail to hold
Ragnarok seems all but nigh—
At the fated frenzy where ravens fly