A gust of wind batters the walls of the castle. The storm has not let up. The king sits alone on the throne—his pride won’t allow him any alleviation.
The Brandenburg castle never before portrayed itself as a dark place. The walls never reached such extreme heights and the gardens, never so abandoned. He built walls and underwent outrageous precautions to shield himself from the monsters outside. But he was blind. They were his creation; they came from the castle.
Grey. For years the city metamorphosed into a city painted over in an atmosphere of abandonment--a scene of neglect and disarray.
Droughts, plagues, hysteria. Throughout the land the world was in pandemonium, the people had no idea how to cope. Their king, their joyful king--gone. For years, the people of the land survived through determination; but, there was always despair. For the king’s emotions affected the land, warping it into a resemblance of his subconscious.


Yet, there were splotches of remembrance scattered throughout the castle. An archaic mosaic veiled behind a musty curtain. A hibiscus hidden beneath the underbrush. Even the people of the castle remember. They remembered how the flowers bloomed, how the trees budded perennially and how the birds sang their melodies throughout the day.


Memories. That is what tore down the walls.

Day by day the sunlight corroded the king’s confinements. Piece by piece, brick by brick. The people of the castle witnessed beams of light penetrating the gaps. Soon, the castle was engulfed by radiance of the sun.
The flowers bloomed, the trees budded, and the birds sang.
All was brilliant, radiant and joyful. Except for the throne room. Still, Edward sat alone in the grey, suffering his self-decreed punishment.
And still, the flowers bloomed, the trees budded and the birds sang.
The chorus of the birds drifted through the castle: across the mote, through the gates, and cascaded into the dining halls. And up the spiraling stair case towards the throne room. Just as he heard the wood thrush’s song squeeze through the cracks of the door. Memories battered their way to the front of his consciousness. Memories of finches chirping in the trees, a troubadour of robin’s song and the chorus of the blue bird’s lullaby reverberated through the king’s mind.

He smiles. Oh, what a smile it is. The kind that radiates an emotion indefinable in words, and engulfs the room with a beacon so bright that it drives off all of the unspoken injustices and sorrows.
Vibrant hues covered the land coating it in a new aura, one of happiness. And the gardens flourished and became bountiful, as a sense of peace, tranquility and happiness overcame the land. All originating from that one smile. That one life, changing smile.
And now, no matter what; flowers still bloomed, the trees still budded and the king and the birds sang.