Forbidden Choices by Jen Weddle

  Chapter 11

  I wake up. I have this strange feeling that someone is watching me. It gives me goose bumps that chill my bones. I rub my eyes hazily and stretch my arms in the air. My head feels like it has been steamrolled and I lie back on the cool, refreshing pillow for comfort.

  I stare up at a ceiling; a tall, existential ceiling that stands very high and feels endless. There are gold embellishments swirling and colliding with each other filling each dense space with brilliance and meeting at a pair of dark wooden beams that reach the middle of the ceiling.

  A massive chandelier with purple gems and silver strands that look like icicles swirls and spins as if dancing, reflecting violet shadows that spin idly with the golden embellishments. I look to my left at the two huge windows that almost reach the top of the ceiling in an arching manner.

  The windows have large draping curtains with poppy floral patterns that graze the floor, tied back with golden ribbon in tidy little bows on each side.

  In between these two massive windows sits a pair of French doors, which I can see opens up to one of the quaint golden balconies covered in ivy. A small black café table with large, comfortable chairs sits at one corner of the balcony. On the other side is a golden birdcage.

  I get out of bed. My mind is still cloudy with sleep, and I’m feeling drained. I want to inspect the birdcage so I grab onto the handle of the French door and a cool breeze meets my skin. I tremble from the touch of the invigorating air.

  I step barefoot onto the concrete patio. I peer around the corner to see the most exquisite looking bird I’ve ever seen.

  It stands a few feet tall with colorful, vibrant feathers. Each feather has a different shade of purple, going from light purple on top to a darker shade of plum on the bottom of its wings. The legs are as white as snow and its eyes are as blue as sapphires. It stares at me perceptively, full of interest. It reaches one of its sharp rose-colored talons upwards grasping onto the golden bars of its cage and stretches its magnificent wings to show the underside of its’ blinding white feathers that shine brightly.

  “Hello beautiful.” I whisper as I walk closer toward it.

  “Hello.” It caws.

  “You can talk?” I enquire. Am I really surprised?

  “Of course I can. All birds can speak.” It responds.

  “What is your name?” I ask.

  “Lucin.” It croaks.

  “Why are you in the cage?” I ask.

  “Waiting…” He replies.

  “What were you waiting for?” I inquire.

  “You.”

  He uses his impressively large snow-white beak to open up the lock on the front of the cage and he flies to the table.

  “Why were you waiting for me?”

  “I was sent to deliver a message.” He answers. “Remain ever wary, Princess. Not all who look sincere are as they appear.”

  And with that the perplexing bird flaps soundlessly away, and I watch in awe at its elegance and radiance as it spins ascending into the clouds and out of sight, leaving nothing behind except for the golden birdcage.

  I sit down and ponder the peculiar bird’s message.

  What could it mean?

  Who would have sent such a mysterious message to me?

  “Are you awake now beautiful girl?” A familiar voice inquires.

  “Theo. What happened to me?” I ask.

  “You were stunned by the Hethums… sorry I forgot to tell you about those. I’m just not sure where to start and I think that the book I gave you might help a little bit.” He says digging around in his pocket to hand me the leather bound book. “You might want to study it.”

  “I hate reading.” I sigh. “I have a terrible headache.”

  “That’s normal. The Hethums accidentally used their charm on you, which makes you sleepy and forgetful; it’s actually used on intruders but one of the animals has a cold and he sneezed all over you releasing his powers. I hope you’re alright.” He utters, his gray eyes glistening in the sunlight.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. So are you hungry or thirsty?” He asks.

  “Not really.” I answer, but my stomach grumbles in protest.

  “Alright, I may be a little hungry.”

  “Wonderful. Dinner will be ready soon. I’m supposed to tell you to find something appropriate to wear.”

  “Appropriate to wear?” I ask. “What’s wrong with my clothes now?”

  I look down and realize that I’m only wearing a silky striped robe.

  “Well, maybe you could put something a little less revealing on to meet the others.”

  My cheeks redden and burn from humiliation. I push him out of my bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him with a clashing sound that rattles the chandelier and the windows.