You were strolling down the halls of your mentorβs palace. Your footsteps faintly ringing from the empty hallway. The room stretched past many doors and mirrors. The vintage wallpaper pealing from the walls. An old windows let light escape from the cloth curtains; casting pale light into the room. As the moonlit scene continues, the light pouring on the walls and floors. Some catching your face and streaks of color shined across your body and floor.
You hummed softly, blissfully enjoying yourself in the moment. Then, you hear soft chirping-like noises. It sounded like it was in distress. You perked up, straining your ear to hear better. You followed the sound, your head tilted. The chirps soon led you to a room. The door was a rusted gold. Old, and frozen in time. A little Lille in a vase stayed completely still, like waiting for you to open the door before resting against the glass around it.
You hesitated, before creaking open the door. The gold door heavy, the air smelled of dust and a hint of fresh agony. Your stomach churned like you shouldnβt have ever saw thisβ more or less thought of it. Would your mentor hide something from you? You pondered that question, stepping in the room. It had ancient scrolls, books, and a typewriter. The favorite things your mentor insisted in using. The old Grandfather clock ticked endlessly. Dust tattered everywhere, making you stifle a sneeze. You looked around, looking up as you heard the chirps again. Then you saw it. βββββββββββββββββββββββββ A hanging birdcage. A golden birdcage. With something inside it.
You stared in shock, what was it. . ? The creature had wings, feathers scatter around the floor below the hanging birdcage like a help signal. The cage had a small label on it. Taph. Was that its name? The creature kept in a cage, like a pet bird. You gasped, This was worse then you thought, Would your mentor actually do this? It let out a helpless cry, like a poor lost child. Their wings dropped and hung limply from the chains that forcefully held it up, like a piece of tortured art. Their wrists were cuffed, the metal encircled their hands together with a steel chain. Their black wings twitched, as if asking you for help. You held the key that was bound by a thin leather strip around your neck. Your mentor gave it to you before they left, a necklace they said it was. The birdβs taloned hand reached out, the chains clinked as its hand was refrained from moving too far. The metal bounded their arms above their head, strung from the top of the cage. The chains glinted in the scarce light from a half covered window. A heavy-looking chain hung from their neck like a leash.
((Should you free it? Or let your mentor βtake care of itβ?))