And I love everything on this changing, burning earth, but I am most grateful to you.
Katherine Catmull
In her dance, she controlled the bright paper birds with invisible wires and threads. She played the human: heavy, tied to earth. Her dances weren't pretty or delightful, but they were magical, [..] They called her a dancer and a puppeteer and an artist. They might have called her a witch, and not the good kind either.
dance magic art human earth kind dancing good bright magical artist birds witch witches invisible paper pretty heavy
The bird music sank into her, like a song you used to know but forgot long ago. You hear a piano play it some day, and for a minute you feel a happy pain, but you don't know why. Bird felt like that.
music song birds forgetting
She wasn't a cruel Bird. But her heart ached so badly for these sad, broken birds that, just as the Puppeteer had planned, she had begun to hate them. She hated them for making her feel so wretched, when she should be happiest. That happens sometimes.
hate sad broken birds cruelty
earth gratefulness
She was only half Bird now, and the other half song. She liked it that way.
song bird
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