"Over there," Stoic said, a path in the trees opening up to my right.

The tree branches parted, letting the sun illuminate my way. As I passed under the branches of those exquisite trees, all color of blooms, blossomed and fell around me. It reminded me of walking in the rain with Crispen and to be honest, I quite liked this better. Though, and to my shame, I missed Mr. Heavensley and his hunched shoulders, pocketed hands, teasing eyes, and long gait. Madness seemed to have grabbed me.

The path lead to a clearing which housed the most beautiful lake I'd ever seen. And while that may not seem like much- I've never seen a lake in person- let me try to convince you of this particular lake's beauty.

For the most part, it was a standard lake-okay, so far, it's a bad start- with clear waters, a smooth oval shape, all manner of water weed, flower and water resistant fowl present.

But upon closer inspection, the water held a silver tint, the sheen of a metallic surface lingering just underneath the water, though the lake housed nothing metallic.

You could see the bottom, which didn't seem deep- but my liver cautioned me otherwise- the rocks on the bottom looking like polish marble, as if someone had collected all of Potter Oaks' kitchen countertops and in one grand gesture, deposited them all here. Each one glimmered like opals under the water's slight ripples.

There were fish in the lake, large and translucent, their fins- long and graceful- moving delicately in the water, each bone in their tiny frames clear as day. I'd never seen a skeletal fish. Have you? It was...

Goodness, description is hard sometimes. Kudos to all of you so fluent in such vivid language.

As I gazed at the skeletal fish with their electric blue eyes, huge and bulbous on the sides of their faces, I felt a familiar presence. Crispen was beside me, his curiosity on me rather than the fish in the lake.

"You keep watching me like that and I'll call you a creep," I said, my eyes still on the fish.

"Enjoying the Witchewood?" he asked, his hands wrapped tightly around an unlit cigarette.

"I thought that was a name of a specific tree, not the entire forest."

I eyed him. He looked darling- and I hate to admit this- but he wore the face of desperation and worry quite well.

I wanted to take his hand in my own and comfort him the way my father had done for me when I skinned a knee or some brat had spewed foul words at me.

But I refrained- the voices of all my female classmates, ready to protest any skin to skin contact with the desirable Mr. Heavensley- and instead, swatted his back with a hearty thwack of my palm.

The force of my movement, awkward as it was, knocked the cigarette from his hand. As it landed on the ground, grass grew around it, then over top of it, consuming the loose leaf tobacco, a sapling sprouting up in its place.

Crispen sighed. "They hate cigarette smoke."

He turned his gaze to the skeletal fish. "Want to see something?" he asked, his hand outstretched.

"Why bother asking?" I reminded him. "You know my answer already."

With that, I took his hand into my own and watched him smile, the first one I'd seen since Genesis disappeared.

"Look," he said, kneeling down, touching a slim forefinger to the surface of the lake; a ripple, slow and steady, formed around his finger, then grew. Before long, it encompassed the entire lake.

I followed his gaze and saw the skeletal fish swimming back and forth above the marble stone bottom of the lake. Nothing seemed to have changed. But this is Crispen Heavensley I was dealing with. Nothing was ever how it seemed.

I kept my eyes locked on the fish and then I saw it. As they brushed the bottom with their elegant, opalescent fins, I saw them grow flesh, mounds of silver scales, plating their fleshy insides, and I saw the rocks shift and open up.

The lake was suddenly bottomless, the fish swimming into the darkness. And as they did this, I saw the blackness readjust, and saw a man and his son upside down, on a pier, fishing pools in hand. The man had a beer and sat ruffling his son's hair, the boy's face stricken with frustration.

"What's this?" I said, watching the pair, the trees around them holding the hues of autumn.

"Skeletal fish can skim the layers. Swimming into Reason as they  please," he responded.

"But I thought Genesis' forest was in Reason?"

"The Inbetween is more Reflection than Reason."

"Is that what the forest is called? The Inbetween?" I asked, never having gotten an answer from the first time I asked.

"The Witchewood has many names from many different travellers and many different times."

"And what do you call it?"

"A pain," he said, as he eyed the ground where his cigarette had been absorbed and turned into the tiniest of saplings, a yellowish green on its tiny branches. He turned on his heels to leave.

"Take a sip, quench your thirst and come along. I'll show you where Genesis was born. And where he fell into my arms."

"It's like a romance," I said, cupping my hands around the silver liquid. It was crisp, tasting of raspberry lemonade. Crispen stopped in his tracks to look at me, confused and wounded.

"What?" he asked.

A question from a crow? How rare.

"You and Genesis. How you met. He fell into your lap. That's how a lot of romance stories typically start."

I dusted the dirt off my pajamas, the knees stained with green, and hurried to catch up to Crispen. He snorted.

"That's stupid," he said, turning to leave, me following behind him.

In a voice meant only for the spirits of the forest to hear, but that I accidentally eavesdropped upon, he mumbled, "The love came after he fell."

I smiled. I wanted Crispen to find Genesis, I really did. It may sound inadequate to you, but I cannot express, how I willed those words to become truth.

The boy in black was not himself if he couldn't converse with his favorite crow. And what of his pockets of breadcrumbs? Without Genesis, they would be forgotten, mush and mold, and stain Crispen's clothes.

We were all made lesser with the pleasantly fat bird gone.