Written by the CEO in conjunction with Jessica Lightfoot-Toye

In a sad twist of fate, as Aniello attempted to anticipate the position of the egg Aniello lunged towards where he perceived the egg was heading, unfortunately the egg, sensing that it was his protective father who sought to help him, swooped towards where it perceived the strange humming net would be. This resulted in mutual failure an ungainly and unsuccessful swipe at the ovoid offspring that sent Aniello teetering and ultimately plummeting off the high window ledge onto the hard stone parquet floor below with a sickening crunch.

“Oh dear, oh dear…” Said Rachel quite nonchalantly before swinging herself off the windowsill, from where she half flapped her way safely down to where he lay. Aniello was quite, quite dead, that much was clear. With a half comedic reproach, Rachel lifted her fist and shook it faux angrily in the air at the hovering egg “Now see what you’ve done to your father!” she shouted up towards it. The egg floated a little closer and appeared to bob remorsefully in the air. Rachel then peered down to look closer at her deceased husband. Her avian eye scanned him up and down for several moments before focussing on his caved in head. Then, taking out of her dress a small pair of scissors, she began to make a series of swift incisions, (which, if one were asked for a simile for them, one would say they resembled a pecking motion) into the wreckage of his head.

The blood spattered over her hands, up her sleeves, small bits grey matter flew hither and thither. Then, her eyes acquired a beady triumphant look, and she plunged her hand into the cavity and, after a moment of squelchy rummaging extracted a blood-soaked glistening black stone. Seemingly now oblivious to the hovering child-egg, she held the stone, peered at it intensely, then wiped it clean on her dress. Now with a wide-eyed look of concentration she focussed again on the stone. 

Upon doing so for just a miniscule amount of time, an incredible transformation began to occur. A blue light of a strange pulsating hue began to emanate from Aniello’s corpse. The air around it shimmered in an unearthly azure haze and an ineffably aural hum filled the air. The hum intensified, the light intensified until blue light and noise became one in a quasi-synaesthesic PHZZZZZZZZZZZZT! When this phenomenon subsided, there standing on the court floor was a very large majestic looking cockerel.

For a moment, the bewildered beast stood entirely still as though his incredible transformation  had somehow suspended him within a psychic trance. Rachel, who was already experienced in inhabiting a poultry vessel, rolled her eyes and released an inward sigh. Kneeling down to inspect him more closely, she cast a critical eye over his admittedly beautiful rust plumage which formed a brilliant copper cape which only further accentuated his vividly regal tail feathers. Having made this necessary assessment, she concluded that he was far more visually impressive in this form. Throughout the duration of this process, Aniello/the cockerel had not moved at all. Rachel, unphased, waved a clawed hand back and forth before him but his expression did not change, that is of course assuming that a cockerel would be capable of showing any expression at all. After a couple more pitiful passes, she sighed once more. 

“You really are useless. I see where our child gets it from”

At this remark, the egg-child, which had been quietly hovering above Rachel’s shoulder, swiftly retreated into the canopy of a nearby tree and concealed itself within the dense branches. Rachel pretending not to have noticed, concerned herself solely with the matter at hand. Having briefly pondered how she might break her husband’s trance, she reached behind him and harshly plucked one of his lustrous tail feathers to which he responded with an almighty shriek.

The cry (which was so loud it caused the surrounding palace walls to tremble as though disturbed by seismic activity) sent an unexpected shockwave throughout the kingdom which very much disturbed the many courtiers and local avian population alike. Rachel, wholly displeased by the unnecessary noise, shoved Aniello’s head into a nearby bucket of water. 

“Fool! Stop making such a terrible racket! You only have yourself to blame for this!”

In a dire state of distress, the squawking bird fruitlessly flapped his wings like the proverbial headless chicken, haphazardly striking his clawed toes behind him in an attempt to dissuade the perpetrator of his unjust treatment. When Rachel finally relented and released her grip upon his elongated neck, the drenched Aniello, surprisingly not dead, withdrew his head from the water and appeared to gasp for air. Croaking and choking out of the way, alarm shook him deep within his hollow bones as he caught his reflection within the rippling water. The shrieking then resumed.

“You witch! What have you done to me!?”

Written by the CEO in conjunction with Jessica Lightfoot-Toye

“Father!” it called piteously; the voice seemed to blend seamlessly with the blue light “I am not yet ready, seal the egg, keep me warm and come back for me in one week’s time.” Aniello blinked. This was quite astonishing, however given that he was quite used to astonishing things, he took it quite in his stride. “Ah my child, with what shall I seal the egg?” “With the tallow of the table candle father; but be quick be quick, for when the blue light is spent, I shall perish.” 

So Aniello lit the candle and carefully dripped the wax over the crack, which, whilst wide was not fragmented at the edge but clean. The tallow cooled and slowly the blue light was prevented from emitting further from the ovum. 

Aniello now considered the problem of warmth. He thought about secreting it somewhere near some kind of warm water device, but he could imagine he would forget and the egg would perish from cold. He thought about having it about his person but then he feared he would forget and crack it. He thought about putting it near the fire, but feared the fire would be made too hot and the egg would be cooked. Lastly, he thought about the most traditional of all methods and considered he would give it to Rachel to sit on to incubate, presuming she would know how to sit gently enough not to destroy it. 

He did not particularly like this idea, and partially hoped she would devise a more cunning method of keeping it warm away from themselves. For, no matter how avian she became Aniello still wanted to indulge his desires for his wife (possibly it occurred to him, the more avian she became the more he desired her (but then repressed this again)). So the thought of her immobile upon this tallow fixed egg for a whole week seemed nearly more that he could imagine. 

On the other hand, one had to think of the children. Parenthood is no light matter and sacrifices must be made. Thus, with dutiful heart he went to his wife and said “My wife, this egg contains our child which I nearly cooked for my breakfast, yet it stilled my hand and told me to wait for a week. The child lives though the egg is cracked, but the egg must be kept warm. What’s to do?” and he looked at her with her an expression of such paltry intelligence that she —with considerable irony- fancied he looked as stupid as a chicken can look (albeit a handsome one). Rachel considered the matter cooly for a second and then with an alacrity that stunned Aniello, she snatched the egg from him with her claw-like hand and flung it out of a nearby open window. 

“There,” she said “that’s what’s to do with it. Let’s see if the lazy wretch can fly shall we!”

The egg, now hurtling through the air at many miles an hour, whistled as its trajectory was directed out of the open window and toward the palace grounds below. Aniello raced to the window, half-throwing himself out of it but alas, his breakfast-child had vanished from his sight. His heart lurched from his chest as he contemplated his loss and anger burnt ferociously within him. Aniello turned, preparing himself to beat his pesky poultry-wife but then he heard a strange noise.

Above him, the egg bobbed frantically. It seemed impossible for it to be doing so but Aniello acknowledged that this was simply the most recent of many impossible things that had occurred during his short life. Brushing this apparently obvious thought aside, he squinted his eyes in an attempt to observe how his egg-child achieved the gravity-defying feat.

From within the greenish shell (the colour of which was not previously noted), a pair of leathery wings emerged through the formerly-tallowed crack, and beat furiously to suspend the bulbous form high up above them. 

Turning rapidly on his heels, Aniello ran back within his palace and searched all 159 rooms for the tool he knew he would imminently require. Rachel, who did not follow him, meanwhile sat on the windowsill throwing small rocks, some of which were diamonds, at the egg child in an attempt to dislodge it from its airy position. Much to her frustration, she was unsuccessful . 

Within ten minutes, Aniello had returned and proudly displayed his much-sought possession.

“Behold, witch! My ergonomic, hydrophobic, rheumatic butterfly-and-occasional-moth-catching net!”. 

Rachel didn’t know what most of those words meant but she remained nonplussed, turling her tawny locks with her forefinger/-claws.

Balancing precariously on the window ledge, Aniello leaned forward on the tips of his toes as he teetered towards the egg which seemed to be just out of reach. With one fell swoop, he captured his prize, or so he had initially thought…