The tower dark and cold, a conquest for the brave.
My hands shake, a sign.
The bed unmade, Mother’s throne.
My cheeks lift, freedom.
The jougs bite, a bit looser.
My talons reach for it,
Click. Thud.
The crickets and wind sing, a perfect recipe.
My limbs remember the weight, stillness lingers.
Hunger gnaws where helplessness once slept.
Instincts awaken, survival bound.
"Mother could not keep...
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