Caliban: Sinner or Saint?
In the end, their spirits were too different, for all they were trapped on the same island. The same love affair would not let them go, not without the ripping, tearing pull of one heart away from its anchor.
When he found her, trapped in a life growing and closing around her, choking her, her feathers crushed, how could he have known what he was freeing? He forced her out, pried her heart open again, enough to let her move, to breathe at last. She had almost forgotten the in and out rush of the air filling her. It went to her head, made her dizzy.
And truly, she was as Ariel. Her spirit was always in motion, thoughts whirring eddies, lifting or dashing her, her emotions as wild as the west wind, as relentlessly buffetting as the southerlies rolling in from the sea. It took her, usually, three or four times to sit down to anything, even if only to relax. This or that need, thought, desire would strike her and she would rush to meet it.
He, though, was a soul of earth, rooted in his heart and life- in all the reasons to stay. He had seen only her cage, had not accepted his own, and she had no way to break him out. He was trapped as surely as she had been, more so, for he thought himself free. He saved her from a life that bound her to disappointment, to misery, but he could not save her from himself. A Caliban, his long fingers grasping at beauty, hoarding it.
In the end, she was mired in him. He held her heart like a treasure, and did not want to let go. In the end, she knew that to be truly free, she had to free herself not only of the tree, but of the earth of the island. She could not take him with her, could not force him out of the ground- she had been caught there, he had grown from it.
So she pulled away, and ripped her heart open. And eventually, she remembered how to breathe again.