In a land where the grass whispered and the animals sang, there lived a little girl. The girl spent her days swimming in the crystal skies and basking in the breeze, but she was not fond of her paradise. Through her eyes, the grass were prison bars, and the sky was a numb gray ceiling. She desperately longed for what lay beyond her mother’s fence.

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One particular day, the little girl woke up earlier than usual to watch the sun peek above the horizon. She climbed over the lush cream cushion and swung the window open. To her surprise, a pretty gray bird was waiting for her. It was perched on a branch near her window and chirped with a vitality that blew wind into the girl’s room. Its sweet sound carried across the air as the girl gazed at it longingly, and her heart tugged her forward until she was on the edge of her windowsill. Her hand reached for the floating notes as they tumbled with the wind.

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“I wish I was as free as you,” the little girl sighed, slumping forward. From the window, she could see the world of lush greenery and running rivers that lay in wait.

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“Mother says I’m not ready to travel,” the little girl said sadly. “She says the water is full of monsters that will feast on my flesh. But you’ve been out there, and the rivers are lovely, aren’t they?”

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The gray bird’s feathers rustled serenely in the wind.

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“I know they are,” the little girl said, squirming as her white lace collar prickled at her neck. “If only I could convince her to let me go.”

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A thought occurred to her, for her mother had just gone out to get fresh milk and eggs for their tea that afternoon. She leapt off the cushion under the windowsill and straightened her pink dress. The white ribbon in her hair bounced as she heaved the door knob open and flounced down the stairs.

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For the first time, her black-buckled shoes flew through the grass with a purpose. She uprooted flurries of dust and butterflies before skidding to a stop in front of the tree that held the bird. She looked up at it, smiling widely when it came down to rest on her shoulder.

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“Let’s explore,” she said.

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The gray bird chirped and shook itself. It took off and flapped over the wooden fence. The girl, not wanting to be left behind by her new friend, crawled between the kempt wooden boards and hurried after it, not noticing how the white ribbon snagged in the boards and fluttered to the ground.

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They soared through the afternoon. Together they reveled in the fresher air and brighter sky, for there was no greater joy to the little girl than the taste of freedom, friendship, and sunshine. She laughed fearlessly, spreading her small arms into the great big world that seemed to welcome her.

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Looking back, the gray bird had no greater wish than to continue flying – to leave her behind at the beginning of the rivers and to let her gouge herself on the fresh air until she grew sick of it. But the gray bird knew what must happen once it reached the river bed. It knew that at the end of their afternoon of adventure, a woman with hair darker than the night sky and a basket of fragrant leaves would be waiting.

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The little girl suspected nothing. She grinned and waved at the woman, for her heart was still hopelessly open from the exciting sights. The little gray bird watched as its lamb was led into the slaughterhouse with promises of sweet cakes and succulent steaks. It flew back into its cage and looked away when the twin locks clicked shut. The water boiled next to the witch in a large black cauldron, and a cleaver lay on a table.

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“Oh, what marvelous timing!” the witch said after examining the girl’s confused face. She set the basket next to the blade. “Thank you, my pet. She will taste very nice with the fresh herbs I’ve picked.”

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The gray bird bowed its head to avoid the fear dawning in the girl’s eyes. The witch reached into her pockets and pulled out a black key. The bird seemed to flinch at the sound of the lock echoing through the cobblestone hut, signifying the end of its imprisonment.

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“Go on. You’re free now,” the witch cooed, stroking its gray feathers. Chills shook the bird’s body, and it took one last look at the sobbing girl in the cage that mimicked its own.

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Then it turned and flew away. Its black-speckled wings did not cast shadows across the yellowing grass. Down below, the bees kept buzzing. The streams still flowed and children in white danced with the falling leaves. The world went on without the little girl. When night fell, it drowned out her cries with those same sweet promises of freedom.