The Empty Doll
Birth of the Birds' Songs
The rain was pouring down outside again.
She was all alone.
Her maker had been asleep for years,
or was it decades.
She'd lost count.
One by one her siblings slowly followed.
She went about her chores again,
caring for her unmoving family.
A golem, a doll, this is what she was.
A music box dancer without her music box.
Her silk shoes barely made a sound
as she glided across the ballroom
to a nearly forgotten melody.
Why was she the only one awake?
What made her different from the others?
She knew not,
but she continued her dance.
Day after day, nothing changed.
For the last time
She danced to that song.
As she left, she looked around
and once more, tears couldn’t come.
She stood upon the rim of the long dry well, knowing…
her porcelain body would perish should she fall.
For the first time in over a century she sang that song.
Her gemstone heart cracking
under the pain of her angelic voice,
tears that should not be able to be borne
fell from her glass eyes.
As she sang the last note she let herself fall,
down, down, down.
Years later her music box song
still echoes in the woods
under the ruins of an old mansion
as the birds remember her pain
and teach their young so…
her song may never be forgotten.
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