Member-only story
The Blue Prisoner, A Bird
Azulejos from Portugal
The Blue Prisoner
For centuries, I had been content to remain still, my wings forever spread across the ceramic tiles, surrounded by endless scrollwork of blue vines and flowers.
The Portuguese craftsman who painted me had given me such intricate detail…
Every feather carefully rendered, my golden breast gleaming against the cobalt background, visitors would often pause and marvel at my lifelike appearance.
But today was different.
Today, I felt the stirring of something I had never experienced before: the desire to fly.
Perhaps it was the way the morning light caught the glazed surface of my tiles, or the sound of real birds chirping just beyond the courtyard wall.
Whatever awakened this longing, I could no longer ignore it.
I began with just a tremor — barely perceptible — a slight shift in my outstretched wing.
