The Magpie
What glitters is not always gold. And what is gold is not always seen.
There was, and there was not, a courtyard of polished stones just outside the Kingdom’s heart—where mirrors hung from branches like leaves and plaques grew like moss along the walls.
The Raven arrived with no particular goal, only the sense that she had been here before in spirit.
A flash of white and silver cut across her path.
“Ah!” cried the Magpie, flaring his wings in greeting. “A fellow collector of distinction!”
Before the Raven could reply, he swept her toward a glimmering display—badges etched with clever titles, jars of golden nuts, scrolls stamped with the Kingdom’s emblem.
“I’ve earned them all,” the Magpie beamed. “Achieved success. Expanded my reach. Scaled myself. Look—‘Bird of the Quarter,’ five seasons running.”
He adjusted a string of trinkets draped across his chest like a sash.
The Raven tilted her head. “What are they for?”
The Magpie’s feathers puffed. “For being noticed,” he said. “For rising. For being seen by the right eyes, at the right time. That’s the Kingdom’s way, is it not?”
She nodded slowly. It was, in many corners.
“I once earned things like these,” she said, quietly. “Then I left the part of the Kingdom where they were needed most.”
The Magpie’s smile faltered. “Needed? Oh no, dear Raven. These are not for use. These are for proof.”
He preened. “Proof I belong. Proof I matter. Proof I am worth listening to.”
The Raven watched him, her thoughts moving like water under ice.
“I flew for months after I left,” she said. “No medals. No mirrors. No one to clap. But the farther I flew, the more I remembered who I was.”
She looked at his gleaming tokens.
“They are shiny,” she said.
“They are essential,” he insisted.
“Perhaps,” she replied. “But only if you need to convince yourself.”
He scoffed, but his eyes flicked to the smallest mirror. She saw it there: the faintest shimmer of doubt, tucked between his reflection and the wall.
She didn’t push. She only stepped away.
As she left the courtyard, she plucked a broken badge from the ground—a cracked nut etched with the words Visibility Award. She tucked it beneath her wing, not as proof, but as reminder:
What glitters is not always gold. And what is gold is not always seen.
© 2025 Sarah Dooley. Story and images by the author. All rights reserved.
