His pretty little songbird was still there, in her gilded cage weaving treasured memories into a falsetto song.
Her shattered wings are too fragile to fly and for that he's glad; she can't run, can't escape, can only remain to watch as her song attracts the princes in hordes only to drive them mad and leave them with a warped version of his reality.
Because that's all that can exist in that place, whatever reality he wants because he controls her and she's so very skilled with manipulating fate like a puppet on so many strings.
And she can only continue to sing until the door opens to the real prince. If there even is one that is.