The Songbird

Prologue

The child sat among a battalion of wildflowers, singing so sweetly that even the wind paused to listen.

​Such soft words were carried through the breeze, floating past the bright hues dotting the meadow to settle into the rushing tide of the distant river. The sun smiled down upon her, warming the earth underfoot and delighting in the sound of her voice. The child belted every song she knew, told every story she could remember, adorned herself with every flower she could pick, and fancied herself to be a queen, one who wore dandelions for a crown and ruled the meadow as her kingdom. She walked with her head high, chin pointed too far upward, teetering on little legs as she surveyed the land she ruled.

​"Your majesty," she imagined the flowers greeting her, the wind making them bow down as she walked past.

​"Your majesty," she imagined the birds singing to her, flying by to announce her arrival in happy decorum.

​"Your majesty," she imagined the bees in the breeze whispering to her as they went about their task of attending each flower.

Such a benevolent queen she was, lost in the image of her world where the sun always shone, where no one went hungry, where no one ever cried. Her people would smile upon one another and fill the air with song and laughter. They would look at her distant castle as a symbol of hope, and she would bring them joy until their world was no more than a speck of dust between stars.

​"Your majesty."

​The child pulled up short, turning to find the source of a new voice that was not hers, one that had spoken those last two words in a tone most curious. Her eyes were quickly met with the sight of a shadow, although she wasn't quite sure if she could call it that. A dark shape stood before her, tendrils of black and grey swirling around its form like smoke. However, it had a sense of solidness to it, revealed as it crouched down to her level and tilted what she assumed to be its head.

​She merely stared at the entity, too startled to move.

​"Is her majesty too proud to mingle with commoners?" The shadow asked, the swirling darkness of his absent face seeming to materialize a sort of grin.

​All past thoughts of royalty and kingdoms fled the child's mind in an instant, her fantasies brought to a swift end as she turned her eyes to the ground and whispered, "I'm no queen. I was just pretending."

​"No shame in it, little one. The ability to pretend is a great comfort. How else are we to imagine ourselves as more than what we are?"

​Shame colored the child's cheeks despite his gentle tone, and she removed the crown of dandelions from her head in dejection. No amount of flowers would detract from her patched dress, one so worn that it was unraveling at the hem and shoulders. No number of petals would ever disguise the angry red cloth tied at her wrist, the color that marked her as the lowest of the low that could exist in their nearby kingdom. Yet still she clamped her hand over the cloth, hiding the offending fabric from him.

​"You misunderstand me, little one. I didn't mean your place among the dwellers," the shadow said, and for half a heartbeat, she felt better. Only when she looked back to him, staring into the empty black holes where his eyes should be, did that prior fear come back. "I meant what you possess."

​The child took a step backwards, clutching her cloth-cloaked hand to her chest.

​"I don't have anything, sir. I'm a peasant."

​"On the contrary, I believe you have something of great value, something he will want from you."

​"Who is he? What does he want?"