On the outside, the Mourning Dove, within a silver cage to protect it from the hawks of the Aerie, sits, waiting. Neither eating nor making waste, it spends the days quietly resting, gazing into the distance with small, dark eyes, or cooing a sorrow filled tune.
It does not speak, even if Willow Whisper is attempted, nor does it respond much - if lifted or held, it will settle and nestle head down into feathers, but mostly, it dozes in a deep dream.
On the inside, within a cage of threads, bound by the hand of fate, Calanthe lies dreaming.
She walks paths on a featureless plain, with only her memories to keep her company. There is no escape from her own thoughts, as the past replays over and over again, who she was, what she did, what her actions wrought.
Time has no meaning. There is no sunrise, no sunset - no sun, no moon, just emptiness, other than her own inner monologue.
Then, a path. Has it been days, decades, or moments? The faintest trace of silver under her feet... she follows it.
A soft voice whispers - it comes from around her, from both withou and within. "Calanthe." It whispers.
"You must make a choice."
The thin line of silver splits into three fragile threads.
The first glitters, as the Voice whispers, "The path of the Dove, that of Remorse, may bring you hope, to live on."
The second thread shines, "The path of the Raven, that of Fate, will give you a second chance, to choose differently."
The last thread burns, "The path of the Phoenix, that of Rebirth, will give you a new beginning, to start anew."
"Choose."
She has to follow one, Calanthe knows. Or, to remain where she is... that is also a choice.
Quietly, the Mourning Dove dreams.