PLEASE READ THIS WARNING: I do not own Rio, Jewel, or any character or theme used in the Rio film. They belong solely to Blue Sky Films and 20th Century Fox.

OK, so I know I should be slaving away on the seventeenth chapter of NtY. But then... this idea. I just saw like was wondering what the hell was I supposed to give for Valentines' Day, you know, just to give a fic in honour of it. Then... I came up with this. It was a small idea, just forming in my head for a while, and then, it blossomed into something more.

I might be ambitious, but I'm hoping for my idea here to be just as good as 'Love?'s. A whole different setting, but with some stuff reminiscent of my past works- I hope for this to be probably one of the best fics I've written. I've spent a lot of time into this... and it's pretty long, just to warn you. So I've broken it down into two chapters. You can just disregard reviewing this one... but I'm not so picky.

Anyway, a little gift from me to you guys, who really love my work and Rio as a whole. Happy Valentines' Day.

...

...even though I'm still single. -_- Gah.

~Blu~

Every day when I peered out of the window I would be greeted with a gleaming orange sphere, one that spread its blanket of light and heat to the jungle, one that never failed to emerge from the horizon to serve its duty. This is where the phrase 'as sure as the sun will rise' originates from: no matter what mood one was in, no matter what circumstance one was entrenched in, no matter how much the world shook its fist and cussed at it, the ever-faithful star would arise and reappear into the sky. You could wish that it never existed, you could attempt to perform some absurd ceremonial to eradicate it from existence, but the fact is at precisely 6:47 the sun will shine over all of us.

Just like the sun's rising, there are things in life that you can't change. If you couldn't change these elements of life though, you were only immobilised in a monotonous routine. When Linda... had to work, that was the only productive (and even then, it depends on your definition of such) thing she could do. Wake up, eat, work, eat, work some more, eat, sleep- repeat the cycle until death, and you had life in a nutshell. Needless to say, she loathed the lack of freedom and exhilaration that reality had so cruelly given her, and it was that point that I realised how Jewel... had felt when she trapped in that cage. If you were stuck in a rut slowly your sanity would crumble and degenerate before collapsing completely... you couldn't possibly live like this.

Of course, the irrevocable fact was, that was how you lived. Life is filled with the unchangeable, and no matter how hard you try, it will always stay the same... forever.

The only thing that changed every day, if it was any comfort at all, was obviously the day of the year. One might rejoice and find jubilation in the arrival of widely-commemorated holidays such as Christmas or New Years' or any extraordinary occasion to befall that day. But in truth, and Wikipedia can reveal, that you could vomit out any random date and chances are something memorable to the world has already occurred on that date. I was challenged about this once, and so he randomly sputtered out June 25 and December 8- I instantly replied that those dates were the deaths of Michael Jackson and John Lennon. I could rebut every date that seems stereotypically uneventful and tell you that something supposedly important had already occurred on that date.

Every single day of the year is supposedly eventful... but because of this fact, one whole year would be saturated with significance that, inevitably, every day of the year loses its gleaming, unique quality, and suddenly life becomes but a grey spectrum, different shades of grey bleeding into each other.

I know because the same cycle of the year had rushed past me so many times already that it's countless, each year bleeding into one another to form my whole lifetime. Which, considering my age, now, was soon to draw to a close.

In all truthfulness, even, most days' causes for celebration are either in tandem with others' (Christian holidays like Good Friday and Christmas; Jesus came and died, we all get it) or hollow and absolutely meaningful (New Years'; so the 365-day cycle restarted, so what?). There is not a single existing day to commemorate anything uniquely extraordinary or a day that is worth the celebration, and every day loses whatever radiating, special remnant completely dissipated. Of course... save one day, save one day that represented the one quality that remains in the ashes, the one quality that is so potent that it is completely unmatched by any other day's cause for commemoration, one quality that saw everybody through and would ride out the storm... one quality that was all you ever needed to make it through life.

Of course... it's February 14. It's Valentines' Day. The Day of Love.

It's a shame, however, and not to mention a complete waste, that back in Rio de Janeiro nobody celebrated this quintessential holiday- probably the only trait in Rio that I loathed. For what reason I did not know, but back in Rio on this date, Jewel... had found no cause for this to be celebrated, and wished not for me to be pretentious- so thus I complied with her wishes. After all, she reasoned, why restrict the celebration of the phenomenon of love to one day when you could do it every day? Why reserve merely one day out of 365 to commemorate such an extraordinary emotion?

Why were we not in our natural habitat of tropical Rio, but here in urban Minnesota?

The inescapable fact is, a few months ago Linda and Tulio... were involved in a fatal car accident, an event that had me mourning over for a considerable amount of time, an event that would haunt me forever like a demonic spirit. I had survived... of course. The fact is, Linda... had willed most of her property to the only direct family member she knew- her sister. The fact is, her sister was so distant from me that her name evaded me as much as the possibility of a resurrection, and that she sold everything in Rio (except for Tulio's... intellectual property, which of course he was smart enough to will to his other ornithology associates).

The fact is, here we were, in Minnesota, with no warmth of a home or the love of an owner... it was just me and Jewel. Which gave me all the more reason to make this day all the more special.

The moment I looked out of the window, my mind raced to formulate an agenda for the day, in order to make this as memorable to my mate as possible, in order for me to present my love to her at its fullest extent. Of course, they were quashed the moment I reminisced something she said, back when I had made an unnecessarily grand arrangement for some date, that –in her sweet, feather-gentle voice-one need not be extravagant to show its quality, that the simplicity of an action alone would draw the innermost emotions of the other party. Couple that with the fact that 'old hags' like us had hardly the energy to soar through the skies at all, and my agenda was far more simplified than I intended it to be.

But nevertheless, after a little revision, a definite route lay ahead of me, one that I hoped would definitely satisfy the needs of this significant date.

Hoped.

I glided towards a basket, one that Linda... had reserved especially for me decades ago when I soared through the jungle to collect a mass bulk of items. She had told me if one was ever incapable of bringing something back, one could always resort to using other methods to aid him in carrying out his mission. I, slightly naive and youthful, had asked her if there was ever a situation in which you could never have a method to aid yourself in an impossible mission... and she had responded with a cherry smile, that such a situation never existed at all.

Of course, she couldn't have been more wrong.

As I grasped the basket, and headed out of the window- albeit rather sluggishly due to my age- I turned back and took a fleeting look at Jewel... I smiled. I knew that the house itself was enough to protect her, but of course I had noticed the subtleties in her features, ones that were as memorable as my name. She had an aura of sweetness around her, as she lay asleep peacefully, as she slept in that same position that was right next to me, as she always did. Of course, that was why I loved her in the first place. A glint in my eyes, I flew out of the window, determined to bring back something that represented my immense love back to her, a symbol of how much I felt for her.

This was, after all, Valentines' Day- the day to commemorate love, the day to find jubilation and rejoice in the most powerful emotion that had ever existed.

One of the best things about Valentines' Day was that it was situated almost precisely at the transition of winter to spring, meaning that the weather had a strong sense of chilliness as the wind that breezed by gave a cool sensation, simultaneously infused with a certain pleasantry that gave the place a natural, serene feeling.

Around me was a sheet of snow, though quickly melting in the heat our ever-faithful sun dispersed, a blanket that signified the remnant of winter. Under that sheet of snow, however, were tall brick skyscrapers, buildings of different shades of brown seeping into one another, one whole trail of monotonousness... which was all that reality was anyway. Evidences of spring were present –such as the blooming floral shrubs that dotted the area, along with other plants and trees that attempted to polka-dot the scenery with luscious green. But of course, something else just supersedes and negates that- the rest of the world.

I sighed. Minnesota, as much as I loathed admitting this, was much more boring and monotone as compared to vibrant and lively Rio... In Rio, it was a long plain of vegetation and undergrowth- which, as monotonous at that may stereotypically sound, was filled with blotches of multi-colour radiated by berries and fruits that lay scattered amongst the safari green, along with the various animals that resided in the forest. Rio was full of life, colour and energy, in a nutshell (which, by the way, is as common as oxygen in the Rio rainforests). Minnesota, in stark contrast to the latter, was a city. It was building after building, cuboid fortresses erected from the ground in complete succession, brown bleeding into black, humans rushing past each other to attend to their errands, big metal vehicles dominating empty space on the road. Technically there was life, but in all truth there was no life at all.

It was like as if they were dead... but of course they weren't.

I roamed around the area, the basket still in my talons. Of course, I had managed to attract some attention from unsuspecting humans, but I ignored it, my mind focused on my task. Besides, most people had known about Jewel... and I over the press, the newspapers, the Internet- the last two Spix's Macaws (the inception of children, ironically and by the work of Murphy, seemed to evade us completely, a notion that saddened Tulio, my mate and I) and the death of our owners. It was as if our lives were spilled out for everybody to view, perceive, and criticise... it was as if they had a right to do judge us. It was as if they had a right to personally degenerate or build up our reputations and the public's opinion of us. Our owner refused to elaborate on the matter, though, and that was one aspect of frigidity that I am grateful for.

I perched myself in front of a rose shrub, staring at the plant that towered above me. Granted, it was only twice my height, and roughly twice as wide as my basket... but for a shrub like the rose one, it almost looked monstrous. That was based on the fact that this sole spherical plant's stems were prickled with thorns, ever-ready spikes to fiercely attack anybody who ever attempted to handle them. If you were a bird like me, with no talon-protecting garments that would block the pain from the aggressive thistles, there was no way to extricate the flowers without having pain explode through every part of the body.

I sighed. What seemed to be the least troublesome phase of the plan (after all, what was picking a few flowers that were free for all, laid down for the public to pluck and utilise for their own use) now seemed like a humongous obstacle looming over me, a towering monster. I knew that every other shrub would be similar to this one, filled with tiny needles that sprung at any unsuspecting picker. But I knew that this was for Jewel... the roses were one of the symbols that represented my love- a few simple roses. Granted, these were roses that were glittered with thorns, love that hurt with the touch... but love, nonetheless. How could I, anyway, return back to Jewel without the one flower that was the ultimate symbol of my love? Back in Rio substitutes such as lilies and orchids... they sufficed, but never really satisfied. The rose, on the other wing...

I narrowed my eyes at the shrub, and mentally steeled myself. Once, Jewel... had asked me why roses' stems had those pesky thorns, why would such a stereotypical symbol of love have to be so double-edged, why would the representation of love be a mere flower of which its stem hurt to the touch. I was stumped for answers at that time- the inventors of literature seemed to imply through this symbolism that love did more harm than good. I had been silent for a long time... and then epiphany struck me, and so I turned to her and responded that, sometimes, to love somebody, you have to overcome great difficulty and obstacles, go through thick and thin... but it would all be worth it, in the end. You'll look back on the effort you spent to show your love, and then back to your lover and the way she smiled at you, and you'd know immediately that what you did, it was all worth it.

Needless to say, she agreed fervently with me.

Cautiously, I flew up, hovering myself right next to a loose rose, one that seemed to stick out from the globe of leaves. I contorted my face in frustration- sure enough sharp pink triangles dotted the stem, as if it were the one bleeding, as if it were the one that suffered. I stretched my talon towards it, my eyes scanning for an area that would not result in me shrieking in pain and clutching my talon the whole way back. Quickly having located an ideal, not-spiky portion of the stem, I lunged for it, grasping it with my two talons and yanking it out as hard as I could.

Suddenly, an unknown force –one that possibly had the power of a billion Watts and the temperature of absolute zero- struck me on the back, and I ended up plunging rather unceremoniously headfirst into the bush.

After a series of frantic yelps and an inelegant escapade from the spiky shrub, I quickly examined my body. A layer of snow covered me, snow that had previously adhered to the shrub as well as the projectile lobbed at me, a layer that shrouded my rapid trembling of the cold as well as the red polka dots all over my body. The snow turned light crimson as drips of blood started emerging through miniscule yet agonising holes in my body, wounds that had been pricked open by the thorns. Some of nature's spikes even remained on my body, along with some leaves and petals that clung to the snow on my body.

I winced at the pain, clutching my body as if it would alleviate the pain, as if mere actions could eradicate emotions. My audio receptors quickly detected a faint sound of laughter, and I traced it back to nearly half a dozen Canadian goose children, all pointing their wings towards me as they howled raucously, a relatively giant pile of snow ammunition ever-ready to be utilised standing in accusation. I hypothesized that Alice and Chloe had remained a second generation, one designed solely to torture me further and twice as much. Where the two were, it remained a mystery, but to have a multitude of mini-them ambush me like this...

My first time out of the fortress of the house, and it was already degenerating to become an absolute disaster.

I scowled at them briefly before turning to the rose shrub. A few rose flowers had been detached from their foundation from projectile impact and lay scattered around the bush, now truly free for all. Swiftly I hobbled over to the nearest rose, a gift that had rained down from the monster of nature, and took the flower in talon.

As if on cue, another snowball was launched at me, the ammunition pounding against my face with the same immense force before I collapsed on my back, adding more excruciation to my body. As I groaned while struggling to pull myself to my talons, I could espy the herd of terror bursting into hysterics once again, their volume accelerating, and the sound emitted from their beaks similar to screeching crows.

I exhaled sharply through my nostrils, as some of the rambunctious mini-bastards fell on the side, unable to control their laughter, and I glared at them icily. What were adults educating their children nowadays? That it was perfectly capable to mob a bird close to his grave, and pelt snow on his frail self as he attempted to follow through a plan dedicated to his love? That violence was a social norm as well as a means of entertainment, and that misery inflicted on others should result in jubilation? What kind of world do we live in?

It seemed that the world could change: or rather, it was the good, judicial elements of reality that deteriorated into horrendous, heinous norms of reality. It was as if the world would never change for the better, but would always change for the worse.

"Hey!" I unthinkingly shouted at them, my voice hoarse from age, my head still pounding and my body aching. "Don't you kids have anything better to do, than to throw snowballs at me?"

One of the larger kids, one that would stereotypically and self-presumably be the leader, eyed me lazily with a smirk. "Of course we have better things to do, moron! Just that it's so fun" –he paused momentarily as his sibling hurled another icy projectile, in one swift motion, at my body, causing me to groan even more- "to see this! Pathetic people like you getting hurt; now that's fuckin' priceless!"

As the rest of the goose children burst into laughter once again, I sighed in relent. I knew that it was no use arguing or intensifying the conflict between us as it is- should it resort to physical warfare I would definitely fail on an epic scale, and it won't be worth laughing about (although I knew that the world would do that anyway). As it is the whole situation was about to erupt in violence to result in full, blown-out aggression. As it is I was on the verge of death, of succumbing to the spirit of death... I had to treasure the moment as I could.

While the attackers were distracted, I quickly gathered the flowers on the ground, mentally counting the quantity that I laid in the basket, ignoring the stabbing agony the thistles in the stem induced onto my talons, quickly swooping all the stray flowers before I could be ambushed any further. I must've collected half a dozen before another snowball was lobbed at me, and I attempted to accelerate my pace as a barrage of snow ammunition rained upon me, some missing but most of them hitting the target.

As I grabbed the basket, the wooden sheet like sandpaper to my pricked talons, the pain built up to the point where it was near intolerable. "Hey don't leave, Mr. Moron!" one of the smaller children chirped, its sharp soprano reminding me of stereotypical queen bitches in high school who thought they owned the world, and they really did. "You haven't died yet! Come back so we can kill you!"

Instantaneously my eyes started to well up with moisture, just on the mention on death, just by the very notion that the people of the world, even children, could treat assassinations as medals of honour, that death was now treated nonchalantly or even celebrated in this world. Bravely I clung on to my basket and flapped my way out of the scene, the curtain of snowballs still pelting upon my back as the sound of sadistic laughter and disappointed groaning bled into one another, as I tried to break away from the scene, albeit unceremoniously.

"Hahahaha! Look at the idiot go!"

"Look at him suffer!"

"Shit, he's such a coward... no fun."

"Are you kidding? Look at the way he flies. He's in complete agony! Priceless."

"Hey old hag! Why don't cha stay around a little more?"

"Forget it, he's not coming back. Fucking pansy."

"Why didn't he die?"

"Probably from fucking pants?"

As soon as the voices vanished and projectiles of frost ceased to pour upon me, I ducked in an isolated alley, seeking shelter from the world before it could inflict more harm upon me. Silently I attempted to war with the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes, as I perched myself against the wall, the basket of roses my only companion.

I shivered near-uncontrollably, my beak's edges chattering against one another, my body frozen by the sheer amount of snow that had been launched unforgivably upon its frail self. February was never cold, unless a freak snowstorm or one of life's unexpected table-turners struck the world like a tidal wave- so I should not be trembling or feel so bitter cold at this point of day. I desired to curse at the wind, curse the world and its cruelty and nonchalance towards negativity, curse the world and its fate that was benevolent to the evil yet merciless to the innocent... but of course it wouldn't make a difference.

I turned to my basket. The wooden material started to turn damp, as the snow began to turn liquid. The roses remained rather intact, though patches of white tainted the interior of the basket. I heaved a sigh of exasperation, and sacrificed the remaining energy that I contained to empty the snow, twirling the basket airborne around its handle back and forth in a ludicrous fashion, letting the snow and water fly away into oblivion, yet attempting to retain the roses.

I surveyed the basket again, making sure that the wood was of acceptable dryness, and I beamed at my handiwork. The second thing to go right today, I thought; something unusual. If you attempted to count the number of things that ever went right in 24 hours of reality, your one hand would suffice to contain them. You would never be able to count the number of things that went wrong in one day- you'll lose track, the numbers all bleeding into one another, and then, it's no more.

Somehow that applied to this alley as well. One might perceive such a deserted, uninhabited area to double as a fortress from reality, as if it were a separate portion of the harsh, real world that one could seek shelter in. Of course, reality had already cracked the code- which is why the darkest and most heinous of deeds were committed in dark alleys- these cracks that the rest of the world could ignore were the host for all sins to be done. They might have been refuges, but now they were even more hazardous than the outside world.

I looked around. I knew that I could not reside here for the rest of my life- I had a plan, after all, one that was far from involved here, and one that had to be accomplished for the sake of my mate. This was not my home. The fact that more danger than those terrorising herd of children could ever inflict lurked here, and I could not afford to have myself beaten up again... I had to move on.

Sometimes, when life gives you trouble and obstacles, and when you're bruised and injured everywhere... cowering in fear would never serve you any justice or good. Your best option, ironically, is to continue persisting through the lemon storm life gives you.

After I had regained a considerable amount of body heat, after I had recovered slightly from my wounds, after the tears' power had dissipated away, after I regained the will to persevere and brace through life, I emerged from the alley back into reality, ready to follow through the next phase of my agenda.

Basket in talon, I flapped my wings, hovering over the city in a relaxed fashion, my eyes scouring the surroundings once again. Ignoring the plain of the brown spectrum, I pinpointed the greenery in the area, before investigating each tree and shrub, searching for the fruits that I had mentally catalogued. The cycle repeated itself, as crestfallenness befell every time each plant refused to yield what I desired for, and every time I hoisted my hopes up they would crash to the floor twice as hard, as the duration of which my basket held nothing sans the six roses extended to near no end.

I was almost convinced that I had scoured the whole of Moose Lake –no, scratch, that, the continental U.S.- as the sun pointed west of the sky, signalling that it was nearly sunset. I groaned- Jewel... she was residing at home, patiently expecting to me to come home, and here I was, nothing but a bunch of pathetic plant organs in my basket.

I mentally cursed Christopher Columbus, the founder of Minnesota and God, for depriving my home state of dearly needed vegetation, of the bright, kaleidoscopic Rio that was inlaid with the vast variety of biology. Back in Rio, you could almost literally say a name of a fruit while flying and instantly crash unceremoniously into its parent tree. In stark contrast, Minnesota was equivalent to a desert with bricks- hardly any vegetation was littered around the place, and even within the sparse greenery no edible fruits were exhibited, let alone any superiorly tasty ones...

I internally kicked myself. Why hadn't I used common sense and analysed the situation further? Obviously in big corporate countries like the U.S., the very notion of food free-for-all to pluck, the presence of even a streak of colour, even; in countries like this, conditions made it impossible to exist. The world outside the jungle was ruthless and unforgiving- people fended for themselves, and Mother Nature was never benevolent to give back to them. Corporate and residential structures dominated the scene- no traces of natural food present, no sign of life. What was there ever a chance that any portion of Minnesota resembled Rio or that it could have the tiniest signal of life, or that what one perceived of reality was reflected back at him?

I glanced at my basket- it had the capacity of a large watermelon (tested before in the state of dire emergency), leaving much vacant space surrounding the six lone roses that lay in the basket. I sighed- I could not possibly return with an empty basket, without any symbol to express my immense love for Jewel... to present nothing to her- that would be completely unacceptable, improper, and spoke much negativity about myself. This, this was what represented my love, what my mate could perceive of me, how I could present my love unadulterated and completely poured out to her. And here I was, gliding over Minnesota helplessly with less than one percent of what could suffice to represent my love... here I was, without any option, no alternative paths to take, entrenched in my own hopeless situation.

How could I show my mate that I was strong and enduring enough to make through whatever reality threw towards me?

Quickly my mind began to contemplate over possibilities, to scrutinise any alternative path that could possibly exist. There was no way in hell that I would exhaust my flight capabilities and travel to any nearby jungle- Rio was miles away, and as far as I knew hardly any parks or forested areas existed in the U.S. The idea of a flea market did not exist, and supermarkets never supplied fruits that were as fresh as daisies- and there was no way I would resort to the dirtiest of deeds and thieve.

There were always other types of food- Western-cooked food, the food that humans' gustatory senses were skewed towards. But I remembered at one point, when our new owner had not devoted enough time to purchase the type of food that we had been accustomed to, she had brought back a 'feast' of McDonald's for us, as if expecting birds who had lived 20 and 35 years in the jungle respectively to possess the ability to stomach down the fast food industry's factory goods. Needless to say, after a string of ranting and demanding for bird conversational rights, along with an almost futile attempt to calm down an enraged mate with vocal chords trained to nag, about 90% of the food had been tossed down the trash. It had been slightly humorous at first to me and Jewel... but the fact that she would only eat organic food- that single thought was emblazoned into my mind forever.

Every single triviality about her, they were all eternally etched in my memory, as if the pointed tip of a heart was scratching against me without inflicting any pain.

I pursed the edges of my beak. I definitely could not return with empty talons...but the puppet master of resources was not on my side. There were only concrete cuboids and stupidly sparse vegetation that surrounded the place, none of which contained any form of food that could possibly be acclaimed edible by my mate. The bleakness of the situation began to settle, and suddenly I felt engulfed, completely trapped in my own situation. It was as if reality had shut me in, my plan screeching to an unceremonious halt, everything suddenly at a standstill, and with no option out. And no matter how much you writhed or struggled against it, you couldn't change reality- ever.

There was but a one-way path: and that was to make a whole one-eighty degrees turn, and reverse my trail back to the building I had originated from, where my mate awaiting with open wings was the only element that could classify the place as home. Home... home, where it had nothing in store for me. Nothing but the things I needed to survive and endure life's tragedies- Jewel... air... water... food...

...

...food?

Suddenly the metaphorical light bulb flashed alight over my head, and with renewed determination, along with a glint in my eye, I flapped my way through the atmosphere, once again ignoring the curious stares of bystanders wondering what an old, frail bird like me should be out here flying with all of his might, and I burst through the open window of my 'home's kitchen.

The room was devoid of items, almost as if it were a quarantine chamber, almost as if paranormal activity was present. Kitchens are often perceived to be the headquarters of the finest culinary delights to spring from, but in reality, in such a corporate and unnatural world, kitchens were but a perimeter of walls surrounding geometric shapes- the fridge and countertops as mere cuboids, the dinner table a circle mashed on a cylinder, etc. Coupled with the pale white painting, the monotonous tile tessellations on all 6 faces of the room, the lack of homey aromas or nostalgic flavours... what was the very essence of Rio, it could not transport itself over to Minnesota.

I scrutinised every corner of the kitchen, until my eyes chanced upon a bowl laid on the table, and suddenly my mind burst into pure ecstasy and rejoicing. Sure enough, within the bowl contained an assortment, albeit without variety, of apples, oranges, bananas and grapes- organic fruit, sufficient to serve its purpose as food. Such a decision might only have represented a fraction of how much I was willing to offer Jewel... but it was better than offering nothing.

Even though, not everything is better than nothing.

Hastily, I perched myself next to the bowl, strictly examining each item for the most miniscule of flaws, the most microscopic of bruises or anything that deemed it imperfect, before extricating a few choice fruits and claimed them in my basket. Interiorly I hoped that this act would not earn me a tongue-lashing from my owner, but in all honesty her relationship with me and Jewel... it was as distant as China would be from Rio- she wouldn't have given a damn if I had admitted her house to be under arson.

Satisfied, I peered into the basket once more. It was now half-full, previously vacant space now displaced by fruits that stood at the pinnacle of quality, ones that were worthy to be presented to my mate, worthy for a queen. Coupled with the six roses, the tender flowers that I had valiantly protected from any further damage and satisfaction filled my soul. I finally had concocted with something presentable to Jewel...

Slowly the wrinkles of franticness and frustration weathered away, and the corners of my beak slowly began to curve upwards. Such an emotion of joy and contentment... it was refreshing, the hopelessness from before being neutralised by this new feeling of satisfaction and completion. It's always darkest before the dawn- sometimes, when the rays of hope illuminated your world, their prologues would have been enveloped with blackness, a door-less prison to trap you in. But all was to prepare you for what would happen next- flourishing and jubilation awaited you on the other end of the spectrum.

Reality often flips the tables on you at the most unexpected of moments- it could transform the bleakest of days into causes for celebration... and it could dislodge you from the peak of your life and smash you into smithereens.

My eyes wandered to the ceiling, where in the room above me, a mate eagerly awaited with open wings, ready to embrace me and what I possessed hidden from her, to offer to her as a gift with magnificence beyond comparison. I knew that up in that room above me awaited my destiny, my future, my love... and now that I had accomplished my mission, there was but one thing to do- to celebrate the notion of love with the very bird that I shared this emotion with.

And so, my expression beaming, exhilaration causing my heart rate to fall into accelerando, and my love and happiness on the verge of overflowing from me like a waterfall, I grabbed the basket firmly, and with a gleam of determination in my eyes, I beat my wings as fast as I could to my mate's presence.

Goddammit, just click the next chapter already! I don't really bother if you review this chapter... to be honest. NO REVIEW ARROW! WHAT IS THIS SORCERY!