"On a morning, a summer dawn,

 

You speak in riddles and rhymes,

 

From a distance your life it seems,

 

Like a frozen heart in neon dreams,"

 

-Sirenia, Absent Without Leave

 

On a tower over a thousand forests, little Lilly Marlene could see everything she wished to see. The flowy fountain of the South, the snowy mountain of the North, the cheerful Western town by the valley and the beautiful Eastern town not so jolly. Many would envy the sight she could see, but in her eyes, she hadn't seen enough. Well, the world is hers to behold, though only from the safe distance through her window. Was it fair? Only to see but not to feel things? Could sight alone answer all her questions?

 

Lilly wasn't happy.

 

She was rich. She was the princess of Aviaria. Still, there was something that she couldn't have:

 

A pair of wings to fly.

 

How she envied those with wings.

 

Every morning, a songbird with golden feathers would rest on her balustrade. It will look at her with its tiny sparkly eyes--like blueberries after rainfall in the royal garden. "Cree, cree~" it sang. Its voice was more beautiful than any mellow nocturnes the country had boasted. She was the first one to wake up every morning just to listen to the songbird. The songbird later became her favourite. It became her epitome of beauty and freedom; all the things she had always wished for.

 

And her wish is hers.

 

One spring morning, little Lilly Marlene trapped the songbird and imprisoned it in a cage.

 

She thought that she will be happier that way--in the company of an exquisite songbird--but with time things changed.

 

The first day, the songbird was happy to find a home to call its own. It was happy to sing for Lilly's happiness. "Cree, cree~" it sang in its joy. This song gave Lilly an idea for a nickname. She named the songbird 'Kris'. Why? The songbird crees.

 

The second day, Lilly told it what song should it sing and what song it shouldn't. On Tuesday, it must sing Pachelbel. On Thursday it must be Schubert. Friday is a good day for some Wagner. Maybe a little Schumann every Sunday. The songbird was confused. When it tried to sing its favourite song, the song conjured up from its heart for her, Lilly would scream all too shrill and a feather would fall to the floor.

 

The third day, Lilly showed off her new friend to her other friends. When the