Between near darkness and light through bars, she stands neither free nor captive. Tears fall, slow, unbroken, from something shifting within. Before they reach the ground, they gather in her hands then take shape: a white bird, born of what broke her. She lets it go. Behind her, light remains faint, but enough. Flowers stand around her remnants of what is gone, and will not return. In the stillness, something breathes not release, just a beginning through pain.