The feast was loud. It was too loud. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted boar and barrels of ale. We were in the keep. The stone walls were thick. They were old. They were cold. I sat at the far end. My husband, Thomas, sat by the fire. He did not look at me. He looked at the map. He traced the border. His finger was a blade. It cut the air.

I watched the flies. They danced on the meat. They were fat. They were black. They landed on my hand. I did not move. I let them stay. They were alive. I was not. Or so it seemed. The laughter rose. It bounced off the vaulted ceiling. It hit my ears. It hurt. I smiled. I showed my teeth. It was a thin smile. It was a cracked thing.

Thomas spoke. He spoke to the Lord. The Lord was tall. He wore velvet. He smelled of wine. He spoke of the law. He spoke of the fence. He spoke of the gate. He said, "The door is locked. The key is mine. You are inside. You stay inside."

I nodded. I drank. The ale was bitter. It burned my throat. It went down. It sat in my stomach like a stone. I felt the stone settle. I felt the weight. I accepted it. I was the stone. I was the lock. I was the wall.

Then I saw the bird.

It was on the high shelf. It was a sparrow. It was grey. Its wings were broken. One was bent. It hung limp. It twitched. It tried to fly. It fell. It hit the wood. It did not scream. It just gasped. It looked at me. Its eye was dark. It was a bead of ink. It held my gaze. I held it. We were the same. We were trapped. We were broken.

I stood up. The table shook. The goblets clinked. They stopped laughing. They looked at me. Thomas looked up. His face was hard. His face was stone.

"Sit down," he said.

"Look," I said. I pointed. "Look at the bird."

The room went quiet. The fire popped. A log fell. Sparks flew. They died in the ash.

Thomas stood. He walked to the shelf. He took the bird. He held it in his palm. It was small. It was light. It trembled. He looked at the bird. He looked at me.

"It is dead," he said.

"No," I said. "It is not dead. It is waiting. It is waiting for the cage to open. It is waiting for the sky."

Thomas dropped the bird. It hit the floor. It did not move. The silence was heavy. It pressed on my chest. It pushed down. It crushed the air.

"You are mad," he said. "You are sick. The walls are thick. The world is outside. You do not want it. You want the heat. You want the meat. You want the safety."

I laughed. It was a dry sound. It was like dry leaves.

"Safety," I said. "Is that what we call it? Is that the word? Safety. I call it a tomb."

The Lord cleared his throat. He stepped forward. His boots were heavy. They thudded on the stone.

"My lady," he said. "Your husband is the lord of this house. The law is the law. The fence holds. The gate closes. You are within the line. You do not cross the line. To cross is to sin. To sin is to die. Not your body. Your soul. Do you want that? Do you want the hell?"

I looked at him. I looked at his velvet. I looked at his wine. I smelled the rot underneath the perfume.

"Who wrote the law?" I asked.

"It is old," he said. "It is God."

"God is dead," I said. "Or He is away. He left the house. He took the key. He locked us in. And now you guard the door. You are the jailer. And I am the prisoner. But I am the one who sees the cracks."

Thomas grabbed my arm. His grip was tight. He was strong. I was weak. Or so I thought. I did not pull away. I looked into his eyes. They were brown. They were deep. I saw the fear. I saw the doubt. I saw the monster.

"Let go," I said.

He did not.

"I love you," he said. His voice was low. It was a whisper. It was a plea. "I love you. I built this wall to keep you safe. From the wolves. From the cold. From the rain. I built it with my hands. I bled for it. And you call it a tomb."

"I call it a lie," I said. "The wall is not stone. The wall is your fear. You are afraid of the outside. You are afraid of the change. So you build the walls higher. You make the cage smaller. You kill the bird. And you call it mercy."

The fire died down. The shadows grew long. They stretched across the floor. They reached for us. They touched my feet. They were cold.

"Show me," I said. "Show me the key."

Thomas shook his head. "There is no key. The door is sealed. The mortar is wet. It will hold for a hundred years. It will hold for a thousand. We will die here. We will rot here. And the wall will remain. It will stand. It will be a monument to my love."

"A monument to my death," I said.

I looked at the Lord. He was watching. He was waiting. He was the judge.

"Lord," I said. "If the wall is law, and the law is wrong, is the wall wrong?"

The Lord frowned. "The wall is order. Order is good. Chaos is evil. You seek chaos. You seek the void. You seek the fall."

"I seek the sky," I said.

I walked to the window. The window was high. It was narrow. It was barred. The bars were iron. They were thick. They were black. I put my hand on the iron. It was cold. It bit my skin. I did not care.

I looked up. The sky was dark. It was vast. It was endless. There were no stars. There was only the dark. But it was open. It was free. It did not care about the law. It did not care about the fence. It did not care about the man. It was just there. It was just being.

I turned back. Thomas was watching me. His face was pale. His hands were shaking. He was afraid. He was afraid of me. He was afraid of the truth.

"You cannot leave," he said.

"I can," I said.

"No," he said. "You cannot. The door is locked. The key is gone. I threw it away. I threw it in the river. It is gone. It is lost. You are here. You are with me. You are mine."

"I am not yours," I said. "I am mine. And I am leaving."

"How?" he asked. "How can you leave? The walls are high. The moat is deep. The guards are armed. You are a woman. You are soft. You are weak. You cannot fight. You cannot run. You cannot fly."

"I don't need to fight," I said. "I don't need to run. I don't need to fly. I just need to stop being the stone."

I closed my eyes. I felt the stone inside me. I felt the weight. I felt the cold. I pushed against it. I pushed with all my strength. I pushed with my soul. I pushed until it cracked. A small crack. A hairline fracture. It ran from my chest to my throat.

I opened my eyes. I was still there. I was still in the room. But I was not the stone. I was the air. I was the space. I was the silence between the words.

Thomas stepped back. He looked at me. He saw the change. He saw the light. It was not a physical light. It was a presence. It was a void. It was an absence. It was terrifying.

"What have you done?" he asked.

"I have broken the mirror," I said.

The room shook. The floor trembled. The goblets fell. They shattered. The glass cut the wood. The wine spilled. It looked like blood.

The Lord shouted. He drew his sword. The steel was bright. It flashed in the firelight.

"Stop her!" he yelled. "She is a demon. She is a witch. She breaks the order. She breaks the law."

Thomas raised his hand. He stopped the Lord.

"No," Thomas said.

The Lord froze. He looked at Thomas. "What do you mean, no? She is mad. She is dangerous. She must be caged."

"She is free," Thomas said.

Thomas looked at me. His eyes were wet. They were bright. He saw me. He really saw me. Not the wife. Not the possession. Not the decoration. He saw the person. He saw the soul.

"I am sorry," he said. "I was the wall. I was the lock. I was the fear. I am sorry. I release you. I release the key. I release the door."

I walked to the door. It was heavy. It was oak. It was locked. I put my hand on the handle. I turned it. It turned easily. It was not locked. It had never been locked. The lock was in my mind. The key was my will.

I opened the door.

The night rushed in. The wind was cold. It was sharp. It cut my face. It smelled of rain. It smelled of earth. It smelled of life.

I stepped out.

The door closed behind me. I did not look back. I walked into the dark. I walked into the open. I walked into the unknown.

I was alone. I was free. I was afraid. I was alive.

The wall remained. It stood tall. It stood strong. It was empty. It was a shell. It was a tomb.

I did not look back. I walked on. The stars appeared. They were small. They were far. They were beautiful.

I was the bird. I had no cage. I had no master. I had no name. I was the wind. I was the sky. I was the free.

The price was high. The price was everything. The price was the warmth. The price was the safety. The price was the love.

I paid it. I paid it gladly. I paid it with my soul.

I was free.