He flew all around the town, looking for something that caught his eye.
A large pure golden house set upon a steep hill, alone.
The raven pushed his wings against the thick breeze, navigating his way to the gold house with ease.
The house appeared to be open, so he flew right in.
Every golden wall he passed, was slowly drenched in thick black paint that radiated from the darkness of the bird.
The whole golden house, that is as pure as a flower, was soon to be tainted by the mass of pitch black infinity.
Through he flew, sqwarking as he zipped round corners and under tables.
He wanted to be heard, to be seen...