The next few days, all the family could do was worry. Their darling son? A sign of a terrible curse? Bringing harm to others? The couple wept bitter tears just at the thought.
Growing paranoid, they kept the child contained in his attic room, instructing him to never leave it. His meals were carefully slid underneath his door and he was told never to look anyone in the eye.
But the child grew terribly lonely. Weeks passed, then months, without having spoken to another person. The books in his room grew boring and dusty. His heart started to throb with a deep, desperate ache. He wanted desperately to be seen, to be held, to be comforted. Every night, The boy would climb up onto the roof and look up at the moon, gazing out upon the lovely gardens he was not allowed to step foot in.
One night, he fell asleep there on the rooftop, waking only because of the rain pouring down from above. Wet and freezing, the child stood up to sneak back into his room.
But the tile was slick and his balance unsteady.
The boy felt himself slipping and his great wings flared out in an attempt to catch himself. But the rain left his feathers waterlogged and helpless, unable to fly.
He tumbled roughly onto the ground of the courtyard below, the autumn leaves matted into dark red clumps. Panic infused itself into the marrow of his every bone, and he scrambled to get to his feet.
Then, a scream rang out from the house. The moonlight illuminated the terrified faces of his parents as they stared at their child, sprawled in the mud.
His mother burst into hysterical tears and his father a furious rage. Both were careful to avoid looking too long at their child, who pleaded with them to listen, to understand. It was an accident, he cried, as his father stormed over to him and dragged him up to the attic. He hadn't meant to, he sobbed, as his mother took her finest scissors from their case.
But the looming threat of curse of the Owl King drove the parents to near insanity. They could not allow their child's reckless behavior to doom anyone else. The father held the boy down as the mother stretched out his wings. They did not listen as their child, screaming now, begged them to stop, tears streaking down his face.
The mother's silver scissors glinted as they navigated his mottled feathers. She aimed to cut a uniform line along the edges, just enough to keep him from flying.
But the room was dark and her hand unsteady.