She always wondered if he were watching her. Her every move, her every thought. It was a little scary at first when she thought about it, but this place was her prison. Her white cage that barred her in.

Every bird needs to fly. . . but for some reason, her wings were not broken, and her choice was absolute.

She stayed for him. Marlux—

That name, that face, that. . hair. Such beauty he bestowed. Everything made a fuzzy feeling build up inside of her. Why did he do this to her? But, what exactly was he doing? This unspoken torture of unknown feelings made her feel a bit paranoid. She would wait for him everyday, in hope that he would appear every now and then. . like he always did before.

— ;

Fiddling with the tiny crayon in her hand, she continued to draw yet another childish masterpiece he'd always love to see. ( she believed ) Her tiny fingers would reach for the nearest crayon in a different shade among many of those that were scattered about the marble table. She wanted to draw something he would like, something he would admire or probably adore. She wanted to draw a simple picture of him and her.

I hope he likes it. . .

So much effort and patience to make it her best, and in the end it made her feel a bit faint. Half-closed lids and shuffling feet made it's way towards the bed, hoping that sleep would help her clear her mind.

— ;

Tucking herself in, she yawed quietly before slowly beginning to drift off.

I hope he likes it. . .

Those words would repeat in her mind, over and over. It made her think if he would ever come back. But it was something she would use to at least attempt to lure him. The thought of it made her shiver. The negative thoughts of her never seeing him again took over, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Her heart ached and she didn't know why. Without noticing, a small tear rolled down her cheek, and it took her a minute to realize that she was crying.

But, why was she crying? For her freedom? For him?

Him. . .? But, why him?

She buried her face in her pillow, clutching onto what was left of the thin sheets that covered her tiny figure. A short gust of wind caused a slight shiver to creep up her spine and reopen her eyes. Sitting up, she looked around the dark, quiet room before looking at the barred window. Her mind was toying with her, and she was not interested in playing.

She then started to make her way over towards the table, her bare feet stinging slightly against the cold white floors. Maybe playing along wasn't bad. Her aquatic hues gazed down upon the table, and she examined her open sketchbook with clutched, trembling fists.

Her newest masterpiece, ripped out and stolen.

She felt her breath caught in her throat, she wanted to cry again, but she decided not to. Her drawings were apart of her and that was what hurt her the most.

No, I won't. . .

She didn't know what she wanted to do. She could always draw it again.

Or. .

Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. .

Her heartache was full of too many mixed emotions to count.

With her still, trembling hands, she closed the sketchbook, and decided to just leave it where it was. She couldn't do anything about it, but turn around and walk away. Maybe she really was a caged bird with broken wings after all. And maybe sleep would help her.

Sleep fixes everything, right?

She was lost, confused, hurt. But there were no explanations for it. It all brought her right back to him. And when she laid back down, she felt her arm brush against something soft and silky. Lifting the mysterious item with her tiny, slender fingers, she gazed upon a delicate, crimson colored rose and smiled.

I wonder . . .

If he really does care.

Author's Note: Yeaaah, I'm gonna have to re-write this. _ So it sounds better. This was just a rough draft I decided to just post up. Review? 3