In every attic there is a corner, untouched by anything but dust, a corner which often contains forgotten treasures, lost gems of the ages. They may not have monetary value but they have something worth so much more; they have memories.

In the rearmost corner of an old and forgotten attic there is a small box. The box contained a memory so strong that it could never be lost. The white porcelain bird contained therein is the final witness to a sad tale of a love that was destined to never be.

It was love at first sight. She saw him across the park and knew she had to change her route to get a chance to see him again. He saw her pause, change direction, head towards him, and smiled. He held himself steady, keeping to his original route, ensuring that he could watch her carefully.

His breathing was shallow as he took in her figure, the grace with which she carried herself, the way her hair shone in the sunlight. He tried not to feel the frission of heat that slid down his spine as her eyes locked with his.

Her lips parted as she looked at him, a silent breath passing over her lips as she sighed, realising it hadn't just been wishful thinking that he might be looking at her. He was looking at her, unashamedly, unabashedly staring at her.

She opened her mouth to speak as he opened his, snapped it shut again, turned a charming shade of pink and walked straight past her. She stared at his hastily retreating back incredulously and frowned to herself. He glanced back at her and she turned away, wishing he hadn't caught her staring as she walked out of the park.

She returned the next day, a simple summer dress clinging to her figure slightly as she smiled determinedly to herself. She was going to see him and talk to him. One step at a time. He was there again, standing under the boughs of an old cherry tree that was carved with hearts through the ages.

She walked towards him, heart fluttering in her chest as she approached, his dark blue eyes, clear and bright as sapphires, drawing her in, a hand dragged through his hair the only outward sign that he was as nervous as she felt. She bit her bottom lip and took a soft breath before smiling softly at him.

She opened her mouth to speak to him and the words dried up. She floundered, nervous, silently willing him to say something, anything, to conquer the void between them.

He watched her, his fingers flexing and unflexing as he hoped she would speak first, his eyes darting over her face to the branches of the tree above them. He spotted a small bird in the tree and, completely naturally, he whistled, a bird call that was familiar in its echoing sadness - the trill of a starling in the tree broke her reverie.

They sat and talked for what seemed like hours, discussing everything from nature to poetry and art to politics and everything in between. They found they had much in common and arranged to meet the following day.

They gradually began a courtship in which he seemed determined to woo her. He bought her gifts, often small delicate gifts with a reference to her love of the simple things in life.

Her favourite flowers were daisies and one time he arrived at their meeting point with a little clip for her hair that was precisely in the shape of the head of a daisy. Another time, he bought her a bookmark with different shaped pearls that she happily slid between the pages of her bedtime reading.

They were together every day for several weeks before he brought up the subject of marriage. He wished to ask her father's permission. She felt sure that he would acquiesce once he saw how happy she was. They talked seriously of becoming betrothed once their futures were more secure.

There was, after all, the small matter of a conflict in Europe and there was talk that perhaps America would help England to finish the war sooner rather than later.

It was in the late spring when they met. By the autumn, as the leaves turned to red and gold, they were happily discussing their betrothal, with the intention they should be married the following spring so she could have flowers in her hair to match the rose of her lips and to compliment the diamond sparkle of her eyes.

Her father had given his blessing and her mother had begun to collect the lace for the dress she would wear. And then the call came.

Drafted into the Army, he was given just four days to prepare to leave. He held her as she cried and handed her a small box that she promised not to open until he left her.

She waved him off, knowing that he could be gone a long time. She blew a kiss goodbye and turned away before he could see her weep.

She opened the box that night and wept. Inside was a white porcelain bird figure with a ribbon tied around its neck. And there, attached to the ribbon, was an engagement ring, beautiful in its simplicity; a simple gold band without any stone. She lifted up the bird and a small scrap of paper fluttered to the ground.

In his even script he had written only a quote "I wish time short, but I shall think it long till we meet again." She held the bird close to her heart, sending all her love to him, praying he would be kept safe. She left the ring around the neck of the bird, waiting for the day he would slip the ring on her finger himself.

She wrote to him, every week. At first, she received replies weekly. Then one day, a new letter arrived, a letter she had dreaded. The letter stated that he had been captured behind enemy lines, attempting to infiltrate their ranks.

He was missing, presumed dead.

She grieved for him, she wept for what might have been. And she took the ring he had given her and threaded it onto a chain which she wore around her neck until she died, choosing never to marry as long as her love for him endured.

Credits

Overlay by Slowpoke
Story written by Baa
Image by Tartelette