"As long as you are a good girl."
This makes her happy again, and it is much better when she's happy. I tell myself so in one breath and hate myself in the next.
"The doors and windows are locked, so do not think about trying to leave."
Her face falls, but still, she nods.
"And you must promise to stay out of the West Wing."
"Why?"
"Just promise," I demand.
"Okay," she murmurs. "I will."
I let her get up, even though all I really want to do is kiss her.
"Come." I walk ahead and leave her to follow. "I will show you to your room."
Chapter Twenty-One
Javi was not lyingwhen he said that the doors and windows were locked. I know, because I have tried them all. Room by room.
They are heavy. Well built. And impossible to open without a key. He has thought of everything to keep me locked away in this gilded prison. That is the first thought that comes to mind. But upon further inspection, I realize that the locks themselves are actually quite old. They have been in this house for many years.
An artifact from Javi's childhood?
I know from the footage I saw that his mother was mentally ill. This offers a possible explanation. Perhaps I have not been the only prisoner within the walls of Moldavia. Perhaps... Javi was the first.
My father used to tell me a story when I was a girl. A story about a caged bird who longed for the outside world. For the wind beneath its wings and the fresh mountain air.
The bird would sing every day, yearning to break free from its golden cage. But little by little, the bird adapted to the cage. Over time, the enclosure began to feel safe. Slowly, the memories of the outside world faded away.
The bird could no longer recall what it was like to soar above the wind. It wondered if the memory was even real at times. And when the bird thought of flying again, fear replaced longing.
What if it could no longer fly? How could it ever feel free in a world with so many unknowns?
Now the bird had everything it could ever need.
Safety. Peace.
It spent its days singing and napping and snacking on seeds. Until one day when the cage door was left open by accident. The bird found itself powerless to leave the confines of the space.
It realized that it did not want to. The cage was home. What felt like a prison at first was now a sanctuary.
Whenever my father told me this story, I always felt so miserable for the bird. Every time, I would ask him for a different outcome. I would huddle beneath the covers, pleading that the bird would find freedom again.
But it never did.
My father told me that it was idealistic of me to ask for such an outcome. That life is not always so pretty. He said that sometimes the monsters lurking within us are worse than anything outside our safe spaces.
I never really understood those words. But here in Javi’s home, they have become crystal clear. I get the analogy now. And I know what the bird represents.
Javi is afraid.
Afraid to leave Moldavia. Afraid to show anyone his true self.
He was imprisoned here too as a child. Taught to fear the outside world by his mother. And when she died, her predictions were only all too accurate.