I had continued writing with a newfound intensity as the week slipped away and crashed into the weekend with a jarring halt. The words seemed to come easily for days on end and my nights became filled with drunken lovemaking that fogged my memory and guilt. Lily had proved a wicked obsession, her sharp teeth and velvet lips my new reward for each productive day. Her cold hands edged me along the frustrating paths easily and her nails were etched not only in my flesh but clawed at me even when she inevitably vanished for hours on end. Where she disappeared to during the daylight hours I dared not think much on. She was sensuous and demanding. Enthralled, her temptations alleviated those concerns easily. I pored over the words I had written by day and poured myself into her each night.

She had handled most of my concerns throughout the week. Food was often prepared without even being aware of her cooking in the kitchen. It seemed I had been too involved in my storytelling to take notice. She waited each night for me to finish as she lounged provocatively on the couch in silence. Her wanton smile and obsidian stare dared me to push harder each day.

More than once she had found me weak and bleary-eyed resting my head on Blue Mina's keys. She had offered me more liquor on those occasions. Sometimes I had accepted while at other times I had pushed it away with trembling hands. She had never seemed deterred by my drinking nor my refusal. When I had refused she had simply kissed my lips. Each time, her scent and taste rejuvenated me. She would smile devilishly and tap on my chest with her bony finger, breaking the skin. The dangerously sharp tip then would disappear into her inviting mouth as I began to write again, spurred on by her teasing. It had seemed ethereal and surreal at times, but all the proof I needed lay in the manuscript beside the sky-colored Olivetti.

I had decided to take a break and found myself staring out the window, exhausted. The Saturday afternoon sun had begun to escape behind the barren trees and the lake rippled in a hypnotic fashion. I daydreamed a moment and convinced myself that Lily and I would take a swim tonight. The uneasiness I had felt over the murky pond seemed silly as I emptied my flask with two lazy swallows.

The first crow appeared on the window sill and fidgeted a moment. It stretched its wings in a yawning fashion, the beak tapping the glass before it settled into rest. The second one arrived a moment later and frantically nestled beside it. They stared at me with disinterest as I feigned the same. The next two were more erratic, pushing and squawking to make room. Their eyes were like dark mirrors, reflective and knowing. The fifth came forward awkwardly mid-flight and slapped against the window as the others adjusted their footing to make room.

The final crow was three times the size of the others and flapped its wings in large sweeping motions and let out a call which startled them. I jumped back a little as the staring contest continued. I gathered my composure with a nervous laugh as I watched the other smaller birds chatter among themselves. The largest bird carried something in its beak and began showing it to the others in an odd fashion. They each seemed to nod in understanding and flew away one at a time in a blur of feathers and caws until only the largest remained.

It stared at me for a few moments before pressing its beak harshly into the windowpane repeatedly. The object in its mouth slammed against the glass with a hollow clang, a small crack appearing. The crows breath fogged the window and curiosity forced me to get out of the chair to inspect further. It swiveled behind me a few times as I did and the slight squeak slowed as the bird let out a piecing cry.

Nestled in its sharp black beak was a round object of worn glass. It spun around slightly as the crow began pacing the edge of the sill to the left and right. Our eyes locked as the final rays of sunlight bounced off of it . The hair on my skin began to rise as I pressed my face closer to the window. It continued to rotate until it rested perfectly into my view.

Silhouetted by the crows massive feathered frame and setting sun in the distance was a glass eye. It gazed forward into the great distance as familiarity crept in. It seemed judging even now, when faced with the callousness of the creature's weathered bill trying to close around it and open it like a shell. It looked so small and fragile. The eye began to cave to the beak's pressure, much to the delight of the crow. The wings raised in a victory stretch before flapping hurriedly and racing away in to the dusky-hued treeline and out of view.

I knew that it was Florica's eye. My heart felt empty as I watched it fly outward and disappear. I looked towards the darkening horizon and thought that at least her eye would not be forever locked in a helpless and unblinking eternity but instead resting wherever the winds and wings of nature decided. I poured myself some whiskey and pretended that it was a comforting thought and not one filled with eerie regret.