I don't know how many days have passed since I opened my eyes.
It feels strange… they said I slept for four days, yet my body still feels weak, as if I've just finished fighting something invisible—something that drained every breath and ounce of strength out of me.
Now I'm sitting at the edge of this unfamiliar, soft bed.
The room is too big for me.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
The walls are pale white, as if they have no stories at all.
There's no damp smell like the storage room where I usually slept.
No biting cold from the stone floor.
No sound of rats.
Not even the stains of time.
Just… silence.
A silence that makes my chest feel caged from the inside.
I pull my knees close, trying to keep myself warm. Even though it's daytime, even though sunlight pours in from the open window, I still feel a cold lingering deep between my bones—a cold that doesn't come from outside… but from within me.
A cold I cannot explain.
Maybe it's the feeling of being abandoned.
Or the feeling of not being wanted.
Maybe both.
I look around the room, trying to understand why I was placed here.
Is this punishment?
A reward?
Or simply a spare empty room they chose to put me in temporarily?
No one told me anything.
No one came to see me since yesterday except the servants who brought food without meeting my eyes. They placed the tray on a small table, bowed slightly, then left again—like I was some illness they should avoid.
No one spoke to me.
No one explained anything.
I still remember… that strange dream.
That man's voice.
Gentle… yet it felt like something far older than anything that exists. His voice was like the night speaking. Like a shadow embracing the light.
"Finally you return, my sorceress… my light…"
Just remembering it makes my heart beat a little faster.
Not out of fear.
No. Not fear.
But I don't know what to call it, either.
It feels like being pulled toward something I've lost long ago, even though I don't know what it is.
Strange.
So strange.
And it only makes me feel lonelier.
Because there is no one I can ask about it.
I only have myself.
As always.
---
A Day Too Bright
Daylight streams through the wide window on my right. It should feel warm, but to me it feels sharp, too bright. I lower my head, my eyes stinging—maybe because I haven't seen sunlight in a long time.
The air drifts softly, carrying a faint lavender scent from the garden outside. A calming scent, but I don't know how to feel calm.
Everything is too unfamiliar.
I clutch the white bedsheet beneath my fingers.
So soft… too soft.
I'm afraid of dirtying it.
Afraid of ruining it.
Afraid of giving them another reason to be angry.
My body still aches—especially my stomach and back.
Not the pain of an injury.
More like the aftermath of a very long exhaustion.
As if my energy had been gathered, ripped out, and thrown back into me all at once.
I breathe in quietly.
Honestly… I just want this day to end quickly.
If I could, I would sleep again. Because sleep is the only place where I'm not a burden to anyone.
But I'm too afraid to sleep again.
Afraid that dream will return.
Afraid I'll see him again.
Afraid of feeling like I belong to someone, when in reality, I don't belong to anyone.
---
A Small Sound Outside
Just as my eyes started to droop, heavy with a mix of fatigue and drowsiness, I heard something from the direction of the window.
Chirp… chirp…
A small, weak sound.
Barely audible, carried by the wind.
My eyes shot open.
There was a small white shape clinging to the window frame. It moved, tried to fly… then fell with a soft thud.
Tak.
I flinched, unprepared for any sound in this quiet room.
Slowly—because my legs were still trembling—I stood up and walked toward it. Every step felt like drawing the last scraps of strength from my body.
"What is that…?" I whispered.
As I got closer, I saw it clearly.
A small bird.
With pure white wings, feathers soft like snowflakes. Beautiful… but trembling. And its left wing was bent in a painful angle—broken, maybe. There was blood staining the tip of its feather, a sharp red against its white body.
It lay on the stone floor, shivering.
I immediately knelt down. A sharp ache pierced my chest as I looked at it.
"D… did you fall…?" I asked softly.
Of course, it could not answer.
But its tiny black eyes looked at me. Eyes full of fear. Full of pain.
Full of loneliness.
Exactly like my own.
---
Like Looking at Myself
I slowly reached out, afraid of hurting it more. It tried to move away, but its body was too weak. Its wing lifted a little, then fell again.
And without meaning to, tears gathered in my eyes.
Not because the bird was in pain.
But because… I knew what it felt like.
To fall.
To have nowhere to return to.
To feel the world move on without caring whether you survive or not.
To scream in silence.
I swallowed a shaky breath.
"I know… what that feels like…" I whispered, my voice raw from a cry I held back.
The bird tilted its head a little. Its gaze was still weak, but somehow… it felt like it understood something about me. Or maybe that was only my imagination.
"Stay here… don't move," I said, gently using the edge of my robe to wipe the dirt around it.
My robe was worn. Far from clean. But it was the only thing I had that made me feel like something in this world belonged to me.
When I touched its wing—
The bird let out a tiny whimper.
And my chest ached with it.
---
Something Moves Inside Me
I touched its feathers slowly, careful not to worsen the injury. But the longer I touched it, the stronger the pain in my chest grew. It rose, rose, rose—up to my throat. As if something inside me had been trying to escape for a long time.
"I want to help you…" I murmured, my voice trembling.
But I have nothing.
No medicine.
No strength.
No one I can call.
No one would come to save this small creature.
Just like no one came to save me.
"I don't want you to be alone," I said again.
As soon as those words left my lips, suddenly… something warm bloomed in my palm. A soft warmth—not hot, not cold—like the touch of autumn sunlight on skin.
I froze.
"What… is this?"
I looked at my hand.
There was nothing there.
But I felt it.
A gentle warmth curling around my fingers, flowing toward the little bird. It kept moving, as if my body was a door that had just been opened for the first time.
And the bird—
stopped shaking.
My eyes widened.
The wing that had been limp began to move, little by little.
The bleeding wound started to close, as if an unseen force was stitching it from within.
No light, no sound, no spark of magic.
Just… quiet warmth.
And the bird's breathing slowly calming.
"W… what's happening…?" I whispered, stunned.
I touched its feathers again.
No flinch of pain this time.
Its wing lifted a little—then gently flapped.
I covered my mouth with my hand, tears spilling freely.
"I… I healed you…?"
My voice sounded like someone witnessing a living dream.
The bird looked at me.
Its eyes no longer full of fear.
Softer.
Almost grateful.
It stepped closer, tiny feet tapping lightly on the floor, and pressed its little head against my fingertip.
The touch was feather-light.
But it felt like someone had embraced the frozen heart inside me.