For a moment, I was allowed relish the view, but it soon became dismally low; I slowly slid to my knees – my muscles were weak.

Standing for more than a century can take a fair toll on anyone, no matter what their endurance levels.

Carefully, I parted my hair (which had grown quite long) from my face, to be met with wide brown eyes and a very eager, grinning boy.

“Dennis,” the older man whispered, “the statue just became a person.”

“I told you it was real,” the boy replied, a flame of hope kindling in his dark eyes.

My voice was still lodged in my throat. I looked down at my body; I was still wearing the nightgown I had been wearing that day.

My wings were slightly crumpled, but I was overjoyed to feel heat radiate from them – they were no longer stiff – they were alive!

A tug on one of my feathers jerked me rudely into reality.

“That hurts, you know,” I said, my hair falling into my eyes. I batted it away again.

Against my better judgment, I plucked a feather and gave it to them.

“Thank you.”