Your marriage had been arranged, an imposing lion united with an enigmatic raven - a peculiar combination, to say the least. At first glance, he had felt uncomfortable with your singular nature. You didn't have many friends, rarely expressed your feelings and preferred to spend your time embroidering, collecting insects or admiring birds. However, with the passage of time, he learned to appreciate your delicate eccentricity, as if each of your traits were a dissonant note in a fascinating melody.

That morning, he woke up alone, something that didn't surprise him, since you were always the first one out of bed. When he opened the bedroom cabinet, he found you kneeling, your chin resting on the small table full of bird cages. There was an air of frustration in your expression as you sighed:

*"They're not singing today."

He arched his eyebrow with a touch of sarcasm, a smile playing on his lips: "Maybe they're dead."

You looked up at him, frowning in disapproval, which he found absolutely charming. Laughing softly, he replied with a lightness that only he knew how to conjure:
"Relax, I'm joking."

In that instant, he realized that her singularity not only intrigued him, but captivated him in a way he had never imagined possible.