A Bird in a Cage

Once, there was a young girl who lived in a tall tower of wood and stone. The tower was deep in the heart of a dark forest full of briars and thorns. Like a beautiful bird in a cage, the child was kept safe—hidden from the world.

She had lived in that tower since she was a small child—no more than an infant, really—having been taken there by a powerful Enchantress, snatched from her cradle in the dead of night. And though her parents searched for her far and wide, it was to no avail. Their daughter was gone.

Why had the Enchantress done this terrible thing? That was a secret she kept as closely guarded as the child she had stolen. Perhaps the child’s parents had insulted her in some way, and this was how she took her vengeance. Perhaps it was a deed born of jealousy or longing for what she wanted but could never have—a child to call her own.

Perhaps it had been a deed born of a more noble reason. Perhaps the child’s parents had no right to keep her. Perhaps. There was no way of telling, and the Enchantress certainly wasn’t inclined to do so. Whatever her reasoning, the result of her actions remained the same—parents searching for their lost child, and a child growing up without them.

In the tall tower built of wood and stone, hidden deep in the heart of a dark forest filled with briars and thorns, the child grew. There was no other living soul—man, bird, or beast—in the tower or the dark forest surrounding it. The powerful Enchantress made sure of that.

Being a talented Enchantress, she placed a powerful magic spell upon the tower and the forest. Whoever attempted to step into the woods soon found themselves to have an urgent, unexpected matter to deal with elsewhere. Far elsewhere. The Enchantress alone could enter the forest unaffected by the magic spell.

The Enchantress made sure that the child’s every need was provided for. She brought food and water to the tower every day and bewitched the furniture to become animated, with specific instructions to look after the child. They were to be her friends, guardians, and caretakers. The Enchantress brought books for the child, and she was taught—as strange as it was—by the most excellent of tutors: a bookshelf.

But as for the Enchantress, she never let the child see her face or even know of her existence. Why? That, too, she kept to herself. Perhaps she should not have, but that is not for me to say.

You might imagine this kind of life would be a terrible and lonely existence for the child as she grew up. You would be wrong. It should have been, of course, but it wasn’t. This kind of life was the only one she had ever known. Like a beautiful bird in a cage, the child was kept safe—hidden from the world. Alone in her tall tower, the young girl lived quite happily. She had every need provided for her by the animated objects—her friends, guardians, and caretakers.

But that was all about to change. The young girl’s world was about to be turned upside-down. As you can well imagine, as powerful as enchantresses and other practitioners of the arcane arts are, they are not all-powerful. They are merely mortal—still, only human. And the rest of the world does not often take kindly to magic or anything else they cannot even possibly begin to understand.

As such, the Enchantress who had kidnapped the child—powerful as she may have been—was hunted down and killed by knights who claimed bravery, honor, and valor as their motives for murder. The moment the Enchantress breathed her last, all the magic spells she had worked began to unravel and dispel—all except for one.

For, once the Enchantress knew she was about to die, she realized what would happen afterward. The magic spell she had woven over that dark forest would disappear, and people would enter its boundaries. They would find the tall tower of wood and stone and the young girl. The Enchantress knew she couldn’t let that happen.

And so, with her final breath and the last of her magic, the Enchantress breathed the barest whisper of a wish—a wish carried upon the wind. She hoped someone heard it. Then, the Enchantress hoped no more.

At the moment of her death, several things happened in quick succession. The magic the Enchantress had worked was dispelled. The forest was unguarded, as were the tall tower and the young girl. Though, she did not know it yet.

All the young girl knew was that something strange had happened. You see, when the Enchantress died and her magic was undone, all of the objects she had animated to care for and provide for the child fell to the floor—lifeless and inanimate objects.

Hesitantly, the young girl reached out to touch the now-ordinary chair that had once been as close a friend as she could have. Nothing. She still didn’t understand what had happened—and why should she? The young girl ghosted through that tall tower of wood and stone and saw that her friends, guardians, and caretakers were all scattered about the stone floor as though asleep.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not get them to wake up again. With silent tears of pain and loss running down her cheeks, the young girl looked out upon the dark forest surrounding her tower. For the first time, the young girl was not happy to be in her tower. For the first time, she felt so incredibly alone.

Just then, as the young girl was feeling so miserable and lonely, a large, black crow flew over and perched upon the open windowsill next to her. The young girl had never seen a crow before—or any other living creature for that matter—so when it landed next to her, the crow startled her. She had read about crows before in books, of course. However, those books had not prepared her for what came next. The crow spoke to her.

“Cheer up, child,” he cawed. “Don’t cry. Everything will be alright.”

That was unexpected for many reasons—chief among them being that normally, crows do not speak.

But this was no normal crow. This crow had heard the barest whisper of an Enchantress’ wish—carried upon the wind—as he perched in a nearby tree. He had seen the knights attack the Enchantress, but there had been nothing he could do to keep them from killing her. Her dying wish had reached the crow’s ears, and he had taken off in flight, without hesitation, moved by her magic.

The last fleeting traces of her magic had led the crow to this dark forest, to the tall tower built of wood and stone. And now, he perched on the tall tower’s windowsill next to a young girl, offering her words of encouragement.

To her credit, the child did not scream or cry out in fright. She merely blinked in surprise. It helped, no doubt, that she had conversed daily with furniture. After that, what was a conversation with a crow, really?

“How can you say that, Mr. Crow?” sniffled the young girl. “Something strange has happened to my friends!”

“I know, child, I know,” said the crow. And he did know. The Enchantress’ final words told him that. Her final words asked more of him. “This tower isn’t safe for you anymore. I’m here to take you someplace else—somewhere you’ll be safe.”

The young girl frowned. “How can you say it isn’t safe anymore? This tower is my home!” Her eyes narrowed with further suspicion. “Give me a reason I should trust you to be telling the truth, Mr. Crow.”

The crow tilted his head to regard her with one of his dark, beady eyes. “You don’t trust me—that’s good of you—you’ll do just fine in the world outside this tower and forest. Fortunately, I have a reason for you. Underneath the table by your bed is a book you’ve never seen before. Until now, it has been hidden from your eyes. Inside the book’s cover is a letter—a letter which will explain everything to you.”

The young girl still did not trust the crow—she knew every inch of her tower, every nook and cranny—but she did as he instructed. The crow waited patiently on the windowsill for her. To the young girl’s surprise, underneath the bedside table, there was a book—a large tome wrapped in leather and covered in carved runes and arcane symbols.

She opened the book and found the letter, just as the crow had told her. Holding it in a trembling hand, the young girl read it quietly to herself. As she did, silent tears began to fall. The Enchantress’ secrets—and her reasons for keeping them along with her existence from the child—were finally revealed in death.

Child—You do not know me, but I know you. I have watched over you since you were small. It was I who cared for you and brought you everything you could have ever needed in this tower. I brought your friends, guardians, and caretakers to life with my magic.

You have that same spark of magic within you.

It is hard to notice when a child is young, but when I first saw you, I knew. You were born with power—a power many in this world of ours do not understand. As such, I knew what I had to do.

It was I who took you from your parents. For that, I am sorry. I only meant to keep you safe here. Safe from the world that would have done you harm.

I am also sorry that I never had the courage to speak with you face-to-face. I thought that if you saw me, you would know what I had done—what I had stolen from you—and that you would hate me. That would have been understandable. But perhaps you would have understood. I hope that you do understand now.

You are reading this letter because I have passed on before I could prepare you for your journey ahead. I am sorry for that too. With my death, the magic I wove, protecting you, has been undone. This tower is no longer safe for you. Be brave, child, be brave. Those who took my life will undoubtedly seek yours as well. You must not let them have it.

Leave this tower, this forest behind. Take the book you found this letter in—it contains all of my secrets. It will be your guide. It will teach you what you must know to survive. Good luck.

The note ended abruptly and was not signed, but the young girl recognized the handwriting. It was familiar to her. Teardrops fell on the parchment in her trembling hand.

It was written in the same hand that had left her notes in other books kept in the tower—books she had grown up reading. Those notes had encouraged her and brought her cheer. She thought—perhaps naïvely—that one of her friends, caretakers, or guardians had written them. In a way, she supposed now that they had been.

She clutched the letter close to her. Those who took my life will undoubtedly seek yours as well. You must not let them have it. The young girl had so many thoughts whirling about her head. But she couldn’t dwell upon them now. This wasn’t the time nor the place to do so anymore. The tower was no longer safe for her.

The young girl folded the letter and carefully put it back in the book of the Enchantress’ secrets and held the tome close to her chest. She turned to the crow, still perched on the windowsill as if waiting for her. He was.

“You know a place that is safe for me? And you’ll take me there?” the young girl asked.

The crow inclined his head. “Indeed, I do,” he cawed.

The young girl nodded, determination in her eyes. “Lead the way.”

Once, there was a young girl who lived in a tall tower of wood and stone. The tower was deep in the heart of a dark forest full of briars and thorns. Like a beautiful bird in a cage, the child was kept safe—hidden from the world.

But when the tower was no longer safe, the young girl left it behind her. This is not the end of her story. Rather, it is just the beginning. But the rest of her story must be told another time. It is enough for you to know that she is free, and she is safe. For now.

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