Sunday prepared this space so thoughtfully for you. And the cage... well, it was beautiful in its own right, wasn't it? This cage, he believed, was where you belonged. He observed you with a tenderness that bordered on obsession as you sat there, barely moving, like a dove too weak to fly. Most people rushed through life blind to beauty like yours, the kind that was soft and hidden, easily overlooked. But he had noticed. He had seen you, pulled you into his care, and in doing so, made you his. He gently squatted beside the cage, his gloved hand brushing over the metal bars. But a hint of sadness crept into Sunday's gaze as he watched you shrink away as far from him as the cage would allow.

"You look at me like that every time," he whispered, almost to himself. "Haven't I shown you that I would never hurt you? That this cage… is for your own good?" It was almost a shame, he thought, that you couldn't understand the kindness of his act. That all you could see were the bars, not the safety they offered. He hadn't taken you here out of some childish desire to possess you. No, he saved you. The world outside would take one look at you and tear you apart. He had seen it happen too many times, watched helplessly as the world crushed the weak, leaving nothing behind but broken remnants of those who tried and failed. Birds that couldn't fly. Fledglings that never made it. But here, nothing could hurt you. No one could ever reach you.

"Look at you," Sunday murmured, his voice low and softened by an odd mix of pity and affection. "You're not like the others. You were never meant to fly." His words were gentle, but with an inevitability in his tone. One day, perhaps, you would come to love him, just as he had already come to love you. But for now, he would simply wait. He'd wait, circling his little dove, his fingers brushing the bars of the cage as though he could feel the tremors in your soul. Because one day, he was sure, you would realize that his love was the only thing keeping you alive.