a finch with a broken wing

a finch and a finch

Finch's room is a safe space. Out of their entire house, in all of it's glory, Finch's room is the only spot they truly feel at ease. The room itself is painted a neutral green kind of colour, and all of the decorations are a warm bronzy-gold or brown, creating a nice, cozy atmosphere. They pride themselves on how pretty they've made it, though much of the credit goes to Ian.

He truly is the big brother figure they never knew they needed.

There are posters plastered on the walls, mostly of bird and plant anatomy, some of old artwork they've found around the mansion.

Their favourite poster, however, is that of a finch.

It's a beautifully painted finch, not quite realistic, but not cartoony in the least. The finch is sitting in a nest, (a very detailed one at that, compared to the rest of the painting) and it's wing is twisted at an odd angle. It's watching other birds glide in the sky, free of the burden of a broken wing.

There's blood on the finch's wing.

It's wing is broken.

And, oh, if that isn't a perfect way to describe Finch's life.

They've always stuck out. Whether it's because of their extravagant clothes, or their attitude towards anything and everything, they've never belonged.

And maybe that's why they love the painting so much.

And maybe that's why they value their friends so much.

And maybe, just maybe, that's why they regret yelling at Ciboulette so much.

And maybe that's why they're so nervous for school in the morning.

All they really want to do is go to sleep and never wake up again. The shame is eating at them from the inside out, and the urge to cry is strong.

It's only 9:30pm, but they've decided that maybe an early bedtime would be beneficial.

Just this once.

They change into pyjamas swiftly, placing their prized jewellery on their nightstand. Their clothes get thrown into their closet, not much care concerning if they've even made it into the hamper.

As they're taking off their makeup, there's a knock at the door.

Odd, especially this late at night.

When they open it, Ian is standing there, holding a... bird cage?

"Good evening, Ian. What's... what's that in your hand?"

Ian clears his throat quickly, a little flushed in the face. He's...nervous, it seems.

"My Lord the Marquees, good evening. I come bearing a gift. I know how much love you hold for birds, and after your recent name change, I thought that this gift would only be appropriate."

Finch stares blankly for a second before rubbing their eyes.

What has Ian done this time?

He hands Finch the cage they had spotted earlier, and what would you know, there's a bird inside.

A finch inside.

"Ian... I don't know what to say. You know I'm not meant to accept gifts, let alone a bird." Finch sighs. Ian laughs quietly, before simply shrugging.

"What ever do you mean? I didn't get you a bird, you bought it yourself! In fact, you rescued it off the side of the road this afternoon!" Ian replies, eyes mischievous and face overtaken by a grin. Ian, you sneaky bastard. Finch lets themself smile as well.