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The words crow and raven are the same in Spanish, even though they're two completely different things. Spanish-speakers will only use the word cuervo_and then add whatever clarification they might need afterwards, like _cuervo picofino or cuervo de Nueva Caledonia. This situation makes Spanish-speaking crows who are aware of the term they're missing slightly displeased as they need a bigger number of syllables to introduce themselves.

However, it would seem languages have a tendency to counterattack, for there are two different words for owl in Spanish - búho and lechuza. What do English-speaking owls think of this? They probably don't know, unless they've been around for a while.

Perhaps some have, though.

You've been repeating this dialogue in your head for quite some time - which is interesting, of course, because this isn't the kind of internal dialogue you'd have under normal circumstances or in a regular headspace. They say people who perform tasks that become repetitive and automatic after a while - like, let's say, making cupcakes - enter an altered headspace in which there's something else going on in the background while they perform the aforementioned mundane task. There are even some people who use this to explain hypnosis by citing the example of somebody driving somewhere and then thinking they don't remember the trip.

That's stupid. Hypnosis has nothing to do with that.

Hypnosis is a crow.

The crow that took you to his house, more precisely, even though the term 'lair' sounds more appropriate in this situation. A house, or a lair, that you'll forget easily. Just like that short car trip.

"More, more! Don't stop now," quoth the crow. It would have put a specific episode of the American literary tradition in jeopardy hadn't he established beforehand that crows and ravens are, in fact, completely different creatures. And you're making cupcakes, so that means he needs to explain things to you while you work. It makes him feel clever! Which you aren't, right now - that is, if we determine 'clever' by the number of mental processes going on in your brain, because right now are alarmingly close to zero.

Hypnosis is a pair of pulsing yellow eyes and the inevitable feeling of being gone that accompanies them.

You're not sure when you met the crow. Not like you care. Perhaps at some kind of public event? He must have liked your cupcakes. He must have invited you over so you could make some more for him. The crow was so enthusiastic about it that you thought it was a bit cute. He told you his name was Alaestor, but that - like most of the screenshots your mind managed to take during the blurry evening - will be wiped from your memory afterwards. You don't know how you know that, but you do. Perhaps the crow has mentioned it already. You're not sure which things he's mentioned and which he hasn't.

This must be your sixth tray of cupcakes. You have a feeling you should be sleeping by now, but there is a possibility you already are. The moon is high outside and it feels like you're floating in a dream. And Alaestor just watches you as you work, speaks in admiration, claps his wings and then asks you to make just one more tray, one more, he promises, it's the last one, definitely. Maybe.

Hypnosis is immortal, like a vampire.

This explains why the moment in which you stared into those eyes and became instantly transfixed keeps on happening in your mind, like you're still there. This explains why the gentle pressure in your forehead hasn't disappeared even as you looked away, or why you feel like you're walking through feathers as black as blackberry jam. You're frozen in that instant, staring, even if you're not, because the moment in which you stared into those eyes refuses to die.

"Cupcakes are the best," the crow says for the umpteenth time. "You know, I have trouble perceiving savory. Sweet and sour are okay, though, and I can tell different food textures apart. The texture of cupcakes is absolutely right, which is why you have to make more."

You nod. Again. This time, you accompany the gesture with the movement of your hand as it spreads strawberry-flavored frosting. It looks creamy, which is how you assume your brain must look right now.

"But you know why I really like cupcakes so much?" the crow asks.

He must have told you before, but it doesn't make much difference when your memory is working at 1/1000 frames per second. You don't even think you've registered the fact that this crow has unusually pointy fangs, which should be an important thing to focus on in your situation, but somehow isn't.

"It's because they're just like you," the crow explains. His black beak is suddenly very close to your neck, but you don't think you're supposed to know when or how that's happened. "They're so pretty and delicate and small on the outside. You can only spend so long looking at them before you need to take a bite. One bite and then you devour them completely. One bite to reveal their contents, which are" - there was a dreamy sigh at this point - "just so sweet and soft and delicious. It's so easy to eat one cupcake, cupcake."

You find yourself salivating, but you're not even sure why. You should feel threatened, which you don't. Definitely not salivating.

"I don't think I can stop myself from devouring," the crow admits. "Not for long, anyway. Did you know Vampire-speakers have two different words for mortal? One of them is cupcake. I forgot about the other one."

You don't think that's true, but you're not left with too much time or agency to consider it.

There's an eternal second in which tension builds like cake mixture. Your body freezes. Those pulsing yellow eyes are still in your mind, keeping you pinned against your own conscience. You imagine how those piercing fangs will feel and if you'll enjoy being bitten. You wonder what kind of cupcake you'll be.

"But first," the crow says, taking a step back and glancing enthusiastically at your last tray, "one more batch of these, please."