I. The Crown
The princess was born beneath a sky that flared with comet-light, as though the heavens themselves marked her arrival. On that same night, the crown appeared. It was not crafted by hand, nor gifted by kings—it grew, as if alive, from threads of molten gold that coiled around her newborn horns. Priests called it a blessing. Scholars named it destiny. The people bowed before her crib, whispering, She will be our light.
Her city was a place of marvels. Marble towers, jeweled gardens, streets paved with stone that shimmered under moonlight. Every corner of her life was laced with beauty—dances performed for her delight, music crafted to soothe her moods, foods prepared from the rarest ingredients of the known world.
Yet as she grew, she felt the walls. They were not seen, but they were there: invisible boundaries hemming her choices, pressing against her spirit. She might study ten languages, yet never learn the silence of the forest. She might taste fruits from every coast, yet never pick one from its tree.
The crown was praised as her gift, her symbol of majesty. But to her, it was a tether. Its golden branches pulsed faintly with light, binding her to her role, whispering: Remain, remain, remain.
II. The Bird
It first appeared when she was twelve, on a day when her lessons had left her weary with repetition. A flicker of impossible blue at the edge of her vision. She thought it a dream, yet when she turned her head, there it was: a bird, perched on her crown, brighter than any jewel, its feathers the color of dawn breaking over the sea.
No one else saw it. When she asked, her attendants only shook their heads. So she kept her silence.
The bird came often after that. Perching, preening, singing notes too pure to belong to her gilded world. Sometimes it spread its wings, lifting from her crown as if urging her to follow. Each time, her heart leapt, and for a breath she could almost imagine she too possessed wings.
To her, the bird became an apparition of freedom. The part of her soul that had not been caged by duty. It laughed silently at the pomp of the court, cocked its head at the priests who spoke of destiny, and whispered with its eyes: You are more than this.
At night, when the halls were silent, she would dream of following it. She would see herself rising above marble towers, gliding past the edges of her city, leaving behind the golden crown. In those dreams she was not princess nor heir—only a girl tasting the wind.
And yet, each morning, she woke to the crown’s weight. Its branches gleamed, binding her horns, binding her life.
III. The Choice
Years passed. The princess grew into a woman of solemn beauty, her face framed by the light of the crown that never left her. Her people adored her. Her council revered her. They said she was the image of perfection, a living promise of order.
But the bird never left either. Always there—sometimes faint, sometimes brilliant, always present. A reminder that there was a life beyond marble, beyond duty, beyond the glimmering prison of gold.
On the eve of her coronation as queen, the bird came to her again. This time, it did not perch on the crown. It landed on her shoulder, its small weight steady, insistent. She felt its heart beating quick and strong against her skin.
The crown pulsed with golden light, brighter than it ever had before, as though aware of the bird’s defiance. The two forces pulled at her—one rooting her to the city, the other lifting her toward the unknown.
And for the first time, she understood: the bird was not merely a dream, nor an illusion. It was choice.
To stay would mean power, safety, adoration. To leave would mean uncertainty, risk, and a freedom she had never touched.
She stood between them, the weight of generations on her brow, and the flutter of wild wings at her shoulder.
Some say she remained, her crown binding her forever, a queen radiant but hollow-eyed. Others whisper that on the night of the coronation, a single feather was found on her pillow—blue as dawn, proof that she had flown.
And so the story is told in hushed voices: of the princess, the crown, and the bird.
Majestic. Mesmerizing.
Bound and yearning.
Story and art by Damian Smith
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