Paper Birds

There once was a girl with a talent for words.

Whatever she said, the words would hang in the air long after they were spoken, and soon come to life, summoned by the tongue of a young lady with silken lips.

After news of this skill spread across the land in rumors and whispers, she became a wanted figure. In a land where the only good magic was either allied to the crown, or controlled beyond what would be considered humane in neighboring kingdoms.

This girl trusted those in her hometown, but her trust proved to be misplaced as one night she was awakened by a blade against her throat and hands on her wrists.

She screamed.

And there was blood.

Several days later, when the chaos of the matter slowed, it became clear that she would never speak again, nor would her attackers ever breathe. And so the rumors slowed and as the unusual happenings ended, so her hunt ended.

After all, who cares for a magic that has been snuffed out?

There were reassurances by the few who still cared. Insistent that her new handicap would make no difference. That she was better off without her weapon of a voice.

But the damage had been dealt, she could see it in the pitying glances, and in those who shifted away if she stood too close. With this in mind, the newly silenced girl left. The few belongings she had were supplemented by sheets of paper and an ink stone.

There was no direction to where she went. She simply followed the roads, drifting from town to city to forest. Acting as a scribe, writing poems and stories and love letters to pay her way.

But when she was alone, her shoulders shook with sorrow and she scratched her heart onto scraps of paper, tucking them away along the road she traveled. For she knew of no other way to relieve herself of the crushing weight upon her.

Years past, and her wandering continued till she came to one of the larger cities, a beggar with a crippled leg sat beside her as she wrote for anyone with coin. His life was one rich with story. She could see that easily, but he wouldn't say and she wouldn't ask.

What he did say however, gave her a hobby of sorts.

Despite his injured leg, his hands and tongue were as quick as ever, and he would take the scraps of paper she allowed to fall and turn them into flowers, birds, mice, creatures of all sort. All the while speaking of what was and what could be. Any animal eventually made its way through his hands, and by the time a week passed and she continued on her way, she too knew how to turn papers into art.

On the road, she would place her heart and mind into her papers as was her custom, and fold it into whatever creature came to memory first. She would leave the figures she made as she continued on her way, and never once saw her paper birds spread their wings and fly.

The avian and grounded creatures alike were often destroyed by wind and rain, their fragile coatings unable to protect the ink that gave them life.

But one bird, driven by the love and loneliness of its maker, made its way across the land, not knowing where its destination was, only knowing the way.

And so, as it landed on the sill of an open window, early in the morning. A man in fair clothing watched in awe as the ink stained creature fluttered into his room, and turned to him expectantly.

Carefully, carefully, unfolding the pages that made up his visitor, he began to read, curiosity creating an unusual need in him.

I know not if anyone will discover this, or if they will even care for the musings of a mute scribe, but I write these words regardless.

Broken-hearted letters, nostalgic letters, contented letters, they all began the same way, and made their way to his desk.

After the fifth letter arrived, he was surprised to find himself eagerly awaiting these unusual deliveries.

And slowly, slowly, he found himself becoming besotted with a woman he had never met.

A reprieve from the monotonous duties of his own life, and he did have many duties. For unbeknownst to a woman with ink stained hands wandering the world, her scribbled notes, her private thoughts, had somehow made their way to the crown family that ordered her demise.

A girl who brought words to life, was hardly of note in the continued appearances of magic far greater then her own, and so the prince never recognized the talent that lay beyond his new obsession.

The notes and letters continued to arrive, and he began to look for records of such a lady.

He never found any.

So she never knew someone cared.

One day a report came in of a woman unlawfully practicing scribe's work.

He never bothered to read the details, simply signed for the proposed punishment and returned to his yearning.

If she could have laughed as she was taken away she would have. They took away her tongue, now they damned her for her writings.

One last letter she wrote, wasting away in chains, a farewell to the world that never gave her anything.

Her final letter was lost to decay, too filled with sorrow to spread its wings and fly.

And that was where she died.

For who ever cared about the fate of a fool mute girl?