Felltree Marsh sonst ist licht- und farblos

In the pale light of eve, the other was no more but a grayscale sculpture, standing stately in the marsh. It was almost like a dream, though if Lumi were to describe it to another they'd think of it more as a nightmare. But there hung no threat in the air — instead, the fae felt at ease and calm in the raven's presence, like they were saying that everything would be okay in the darkest of chambers.

No, did the raven  of her dream shake. She tipped her head in curiosity. Can you not speak with a voice? She asked in a tone as gentle as the flap of a butterfly wing.