"A vista of bleakness opened in his mind, a vision of day upon day with nothing to do, with not even the remotest possibility of usefulness. This was a greater terror than the cell itself...

..He stares at the ceiling.
It is like a night sky without moon or stars.
'I will never see the night sky again,' he thinks.
Then he remembers the birds.
For a moment, the cell is filled with moonlight and hundreds of tiny singing creatures. Then they are gone, and the cell is dark once more.
'How strange,' he thinks, 'that although dreamers can be imprisoned, their dreams cannot.'
And then -
All at once -
Stories, he thinks. Tell stories.
For a moment, he searches his memory. Pictures flash out of the darkness - witches, maidens, wise dolls, magical birds. Then with the air of one beginning a long and difficult journey, he whispers:
'Once upon a time...'
"

The Museum of Mary Child, Cassandra Golds