Rafel stared into the scary bird faces. Percival's ask hung dangerously in their air: "Shall we annihilate her?" With the predator sheen even the avian masks couldn't cover, Rafel felt they really wanted to. To murder the Countess of Avila, in cold fucking blood.
He sighed. "No. Not yet."
He gave a motion and they all pulled off their crow masks again. Their capes even had feathers in it, but the queer thing about the Children of the Crow was that their sigil was a white crow. Rafel had never seen, nor heard of such. Not even in the myths. But the White Crow was beautiful to look at. It was symbolic of how light could spawn from dark, he purported. Had to be.