chenilleloiseau

And in my dreams I see myself on a wolf’s back
Riding along a forest path
To do battle with a sorcerer
In that land where a princess sits under lock and key,
Pining behind massive walls.
There gardens surround a palace all of glass;
There Firebirds sing by night
And peck at golden fruit.

 Yakov Polonsky, “A Winter’s Journey” (Zimniy put, 1844)

And now I know the birds don’t sing; they only cry because they can’t find their way out of the wood, have lost their flesh when they were dipped in the corrosive pools of his regard and now must live in cages.”
— Angela Carter