Old Crow appeared before Ghost as another bird.

Another face. Like a change of clothes, or a fresh coat of paint.

Ghost wondered how many times Old Crow had done this. Did he gain something new from each of his new guises? Or worse, did he lose something of himself?

Was there anything of him left?

From what Ghost has seen, if there were any of him left, it was pitch black.

Seething and twisted.

Dead, but still moving.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 20, Old Crow, Pentel