"You know, I half expected them to come back to life when the Cockatrice died, like the spell would be broken," Edwyn said, gazing at my new collection.
"Apparently that only works in stories. There may yet be some way to revive them, some secret hidden in some ancient text I have laying around somewhere, but I think any search would be futile. Besides, such a collection of sculpture has never been had. I'll have to open up a whole new museum for them, the ones I don't keep privately, anyway."
"It's a strange magic. I wonder where He got it from, and why weasels were immune." "I think that Perhaps it was magic of a lesser sort than we have thought. True magic is a difficult thing, and rarely inborn. It is possible to make something happen simply by having another believe that it will happen. It is a lesser, but often equally effective thing. Maybe He had no real magic at all, but only deception. Everyone knew that they would turn to stone if they looked into the Cockatrices' eyes, and so they did. Likewise, weasels knew somehow that they would not, so they did not. What I wonder is, did Chuks' bite finish Him off, or the mirror?"
"He insists it was him, but he wont even say where he bit Him. He says its a secret that weasels aren't allowed to discuss with outsiders. But what about the plants? How could a plant deceive itself into withering? He must have had some magic, and I wonder where it came from. Somehow I doubt He wanted it. Can you imagine what it would be like, getting up in the morning and going out to look at the beautiful spring flowers and they all drop dead? That would be rough. And it's not as if anyone ever came by just to see how He was doing. All His visitors were trying to kill him. He must have only ever known bitterness. I'm almost starting to feel sorry for Him."
"Remember the wasteland He created. But if He was as you say, then take solace that His suffering is ended. Perhaps He could not kill Himself, or simply allow Himself to be killed, but He may have wished to die."
The Cockatrice stands now beneath a shelter in my garden, safe from erosion. His eyes are still terrifying, and I can scarcely look into them for long, but they can no longer harm. His feet sit in rich soil, and vines curl about His legs. Plants and animals thrive all around, and there's even a bird nest in one of His antlers. He is no longer an enemy of life, and there is one less monster in the world.
