Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just my plot.
That was always one thing I loved about my room: my window.
It wasn't your average window – there was no white pane below it where you could rest a book, a candle, or a picture. There was no golden lock between the sheets of carefully measured glass – however, there was a peculiar keyhole on the wall, which was silly – you couldn't open a sheet of glass, as there was no hinge. And it did not span a wall; if it did, I would see either my parents' room or the bathroom. Instead, it spanned my ceiling, stretching the exact length and width of my queen-sized bed. Whenever I slept, I felt like I was being kissed by the stars.
That window was my lullaby; ever since I was a little girl, I would lie in my bed and stare at the sky before I fell asleep. And it always comforted me. The moonlight was a nightlight when I was troubled; the stars sang joyously to me when I was pleased; the rain would massage my thoughts when I was frustrated, lulling me into a drowsy content.
I understood why my parents had the window built for me: they were afraid I'd feel trapped in a room where I couldn't see outside. And for that, I was thankful. However, I missed out on one thing other people with windows got: the ability to open it. While other girls could open their walls to the outside world, I could merely ponder the complexity of my cosmos with a detached wonder.
The window wasn't designed to give me the never-ending sky. It was designed to keep me from it.