Swallow, daughter, pull them in, those phrases that sit upon your lip area. Lock them deep within your spirit, conceal them ˜til they’ve time for you to grow. Close the mouth area upon the energy, curse not, get rid of not really, ˜til the hour. You will not speak and you will not tell, you won’t ask heaven or hell. You will learn and you’ll thrive. Silence, little girl. Stay alive.

The day my mother was killed, she told my father I wouldn’t speak again, and she told him easily died, he’d die too. Then she predicted the ruler about The Parrot and the Sword would sell his soul and shed his son towards the sky. My dad has a claim to the throne, and he is waiting in the shadows for all of my mother’s words to come to pass. He wants frantically to be ruler, and I simply want to be free of charge. But freedom will demand get away, and I’m a prisoner of my mother’s curse and my father’s greed. I cannot speak or make a audio, and I cannot wield a sword or beguile a king. In a land purged of enchantment, like may be the only magic left, and who could ever like . a bird?