Crucidon

Cru watched helplessly from within her cage as the last of the feathers floated further from her grasp. She strained against the solid bars, her arms bruising, her eyes tearing up at the hopelessness of her existence. She had been a bird and she had been a girl, but within her tomb sat only the remnants of both. Her throat ached from bursts of screaming; her cage lurching back and forth silently on its chain. Eventually the trickle of sunlight made its way into her view and the sounds of a pianist, one with the most beautiful of melodies, drifted to her exhausted body. She slumped against the bars, too empty to cry; too weak to move.

In her mind she danced, like she did all those years ago. This time with the silhouette of her only light… an intangible and fragile thing. Hope.