Hey. This is going to be a "one-shot" story of Raven's emotional "life", if you can call it that. It's going to have a dedication pome at the end by the person whose writing inspired me to write this fan fic. Please RxR (tell me if I did a good job at capturing Raven's emotions ).

(A/N: The "Raven" in the story that follows, though based solely on the "Raven" from the TV show, is, in fact, somewhat different. The "Raven" in this story is forced into seclusion from her friends by the demon that her father, Trigon, implanted into her soul. See the TT episode "Nevermore" for more information It feeds off of her emotions and threatens the stability of the very universe, driving her into states of despair, sorrow, and rage. This story is about "my Raven's" emotions as she fights for her sanity and the very survival of the universe. Thanks and, without further ado, the story!) Please RxR!

Raven sat in her room, practicing a number of chants and rituals that could be found in the large number of tombs, scattered all over the floor; each one opened to a different spell or incarnation that had caught her interest. She kept a careful watch on Trigon, the demon that her father had implanted into her very soul.

It made he powers both a curse and a blessing. For if despair, sorrow, hate, or anger ever enveloped her this demon would awaken.

The more emotion she felt, the more powerful he grew; gaining more and more control and influence over her emotions until the time that her will caved in and he could take control of her body and its powers. It would then wreck havoc on the entire universe.

It was the only way of life she saw for herself. Her only purpose in life was to contain this demon till her death, at which point it would die and the universe would be safe from the legacy of terror that her father had built under his name.

Her friends had always tried, always wanted to understand, to help her; if they could. They would never understand her. They would never be able to help her, even if they understood her plight. Two of them almost knew. They were to close to the truth. They already knew about her father, and how he had caused the destruction of her home planet, Azarath. She couldn't let them find out, ever.

It was the constant thought that her friends, her. "family", so to speak could never truly know her, that drove all of her anger, her hate, her sorrow, and strongest of all; her despair. She fell to the ground, unable to keep her meditative trance any longer. She knelt next to her bed and wept.

She knew that her father had placed the demon in her on purpose. She knew that she wouldn't be able to contain it forever. Her thoughts only drove her deeper into despair.

She was thankful that her walls were soundproof. It was the only way that she could keep her friends from hearing her ranting and raving. It grew louder and louder every day. It was pushing her to the brink of madness.

Only one of her friends could hear her; and she had already pushed him away. Remembering him, and his look that had been so easily read on his face. She hadn't had to be psychic to tell. His look had been that of a young boy who had been told that his favorite puppy had died. It was one of hurt. A look of pain and anger, not at her, but at himself. Anger at himself because he hadn't been able to help her.

She knew that Beast Boy loved her, but she also knew that there was no way it could work out; no way at all. She wouldn't be able to control her emotions and, eventually, would be possessed by the demon within herself.

She wouldn't be able to control herself, her powers. She would hurt, maybe even kill him; and she couldn't risk that, she loved him as well, but she wasn't able to tell him this; not without risking his no, their, safety.

These thoughts brought her back to the brink of tears, just as they had done the day before; and probably would for the rest of her eternity. She wiped them away quickly as two glasses upon her shelf exploded. Without a word she cleaned up the glass and placed it into the trash.

She sat down on her floor returning from her state of despair. She softly chanted the words to an ancient incarnation, her favorite one. The very incarnation that would help her to contain the demon for all of her wretched existence.

"Azarath-Metrion-Synthose. Azarath-Metrion-Synthose. Azarath- Metrion-Synthose."

Fin

Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore: Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!