After The Wound ...

I lived a meek and dignified life in an old palace, a deceased comrade. In solitude, I sought solace here, the cold walls welcomed me warmly. And once in this old building a sad and ghostly serenade sounded, abandoned, in oblivion, sinking and collapsing when a wounded crow landed next to it. Her wing was broken by heavy memories of what it once was, now it has disappeared in time ... I sat down next to her, looked at her with black, sad eyes, and offered my help. I gently laid her on the grass and bandaged her bleeding wound. As a mother, I was watching over her around the clock. Luckily for me, she soon recovered, already healed, she fluttered her wings, I smiled, but a dagger rusted my wounds, the ivy-covered walls collapsed when, standing up, I bent over in pain, looking for her where she was, but most of all I finally found it and pierced it in the heart with the rusty dagger,