In our castle on top of the mountain, we had a slave. She worked for us whether she liked it or not.
In Maidy’s room, a crack etched through the stone wall. Beyond it, white birds wheeled against the blue, blue sky. On the table lay a pair of great white wings cut from paper. When I showed Father, he decided to fly.
“They’re mine!” Maidy cried.
“Everything is mine,” Father said.
Father tied the wings to his shoulders with string. He hopped and flapped through the corridors until the paper hung in shreds. I threw the ruined feathers at Maidy. The paper bits slowly floated down.
Crack! The stone walls split. In the white flurry, Maidy stepped through. Papery down glimmered from her shoulders, brushing the stones on either side.
She launched into the blue, blue sky, soaring with the great white birds.
When Father took out the men and dogs, I would not go. For if they brought her back, she would surely poison our soup.