The story of the girl telling the story of the Petrbird's feather

There once was a feather, she said, dramatically, standing with her back to the window, that could keep you from growing old.

The sun was setting beyond the metal grilles, sinking behind the HDB blocks that did just that - blocked out the horizon. It cast an orange glow into the room, and turned her face to shadows. Her silhouette, with one arm outstretched, cast a long shadow over him. There was a shawl around her shoulders that she had been pretending was a cape.

She was telling a story.

He had been watching her tell it all afternoon. They had agreed to read books after lunch; nothing serious, just a lazy afternoon in which they read and snuggled and wouldn't say much. But she had gotten up, onto her imaginary soapbox. She had thrown on the shawl - his mother's shawl - like Superman would his spandex costume, and she had started to tell a story.

It was a very long story, and even now it sounded as though it had just begun.

But he didn't mind. In fact he had relished the chance to watch her in her element. Once a thespian, always one, she had always said. She had never made it to the big stage, the Esplanade, choosing to hide her talent in dinky little stages in wine bars and the Substation. Those pedestals had never been big enough for her, but she chose them, chose to fit into them.

Her shows usually sold out, so it was rare that he'd get a chance to see her perform.

This is just for you, she said suddenly, winking at him. He could barely make the wink out, so deep were the shadows over her face. The orange room was warm and full of light. Later, when the last dredges of heat had dissipated from the sun-baked concrete ground, they would go out for dinner, just him and her...

But now - now was her time, she was shining!

And there was a girl, she continued, who wanted that feather. She scrubbed the floors of the inn just off the coast where the feather w-

The coast? he asked. The coast! she replied. The coast where the Petrbird roosted, it of the many feathers. It was the Petrbird's feather that could keep you young forever, and it was the Petrbird's feather that the girl coveted.

Her name was Lillian, she said. And this is her story.