the princess in the tower

[ry0un0suke]

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Once upon a time, long ago, there was a tower. Its tip touched the clouds and bore two windows, one east and west to catch the sun's rise and set. The door at the base boarded up. No one can get in but most importantly, the resident of the tower can't get out. A spiraling staircase connects top and bottom with no stop in between.
 
Step. Step. Step. Step.
 
The lone door opens. Yellow fabrics meet the eye. Golden curtains shield the sun and sun rays dazzle along a bed meant for a queen. Bur rather than a ruler, one smaller rests atop her, hands splayed across her midsection. A princess garbed in blue lies in her tower. Night and day pass and there she will sit. On occasion she'll stand, walk, pace. Sometimes she takes refuge in the windowsill. During the night and up so high, her garb positions her like a star in the sky.
 
Lonely.
 
One day, one upon a stead will give her needed salvation.
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What are these tales supposed to convey?
What purpose does fiction of a princess in a tower serve?
Should a knight come to her rescue and will all feel good at the end?
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Nonsense.
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Rise.
Bathe.
Eat.
Stretch.
Study.
Walk.
Walk.
Walk.
Eat.
Bathe.
Sleep.
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Repeat.

[ry0un0suke]

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Once upon a time, a little girl garbed in yellow wandered into the forest during the dark of night. Like a shooting star did she dart along the path, basket in hand. She thought it would be safer to travel at night, as during the day there could be thieves about looking for easy targets. Though another danger comes when the sun sets. Beneath the moonlight does a, large, jagged silhouette block path. It snarled at her presence and she froze.
 
"What small eyes you have, little star."
 
Her eyes twinkle; Fear glinting in her pale hued irises. The jagged silhouette distorts in the wind, like dur furling with its blow. She says nothing.
 
"What small hands you have, little girl."
 
She grips her basket tightly, silent as she's spoken at.
 
"Little star, shining in the sky all alone. Has your light already gone out?"
 
The silhouette enlarges, easing close with a pounding step to the ground. From its ajar maw thick saliva trickles down to the forest floors.
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Unnecessary.
Why is the girl wearing a hood that will make her a target?
Where is she going?
For what purpose does this serve?
Hide in colors suited for the environment.
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Rise.
Stare.
Stare.
Stare.
Stare.
Bathe.
Eat.
Hide.
Hide.
Hide.
Eat.
Study.
Bathe.
Sleep.
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Repeat.
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[ry0un0suke]

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Once upon a time, turbulent winds swept across the plains knocking away everything in sight. Barrels touched the clouds, trees nigh uproot, people howl as they're taking to the skies. It approaches steadily, the sky watchers anticipated as much. When the sky darkened, dreary and sad from the telling overcast, a little girl calls out to two others. One wears a white hood, the other blue.
 
"Take cover! The big bad wind is coming!" She warns. White runs into a house of stray, blue into a house of sticks. The girl in yellow pulls her hood down and takes shelter in a house of brick. Inside, she takes cover, hands over her head as the approaching wind shakes the foundation. Are the others okay? She should have checked on them or maybe reminded them all of the big bad wind. No matter her fear, she crawls to the window. When she peaks up...

"Ahhh!" The girl in white screams as her straw house flutters away into the air. Not long after, she's swept off her feet and cast towards the heavens. The girl in yellow watches in horror. Next door, the house of sticks should be fine, right? Wood is strong and sturdy. They shake as the wind howls. Some sticks peel away and click against yellow's brick house. "Nooo!! Ahhh!" Alas, similar to the straw house, it's torn to bits and the blue hooded girl blows away, never to be seen again.
 
The brick house rattles and rattles and rattles and rattles.
 
"Huff, huff, huff..." Her breath falls out of her control.
 
Save me.
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Why don't they all get into the house made out of brick?
This story is stupid.
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Rise.

Bathe.

Eat.

Walk.

Walk carefully.

Walk carefully.

Walk carefully.

Study.

Eat.

Bathe.

Chat.

Smile.

Watch carefully.

Sleep.

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 Repeat.

[ry0un0suke]

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Once upon a time, a young woman longed to attend a publicly open dance for those of renown. She was a simple woman, yet one with a beauty of her own. Excited for the event, she prepared a beautiful golden gown and a suit for her husband, fine pressed and of the finest material with a tie of matching color. When the dance was three hours away, she peaked into his office only to hear typing at the type-writer.

Click. Click. Click

 

"Are you going to get ready?" She asks, hair wrapped with a towel as she finished her bath. "In a minute." He responds dryly.

Click. Click. Click.

Offering a smile, she merely nods and sets into her closet. A brush glides through her hair and she sings in front of her vanity. Soon, she prepares to slip into her golden gown, but her husband's suit remains untouched. Once more, she peaks her head in. "Are you... going to get ready?" She repeats her question before. "In a minute." He says, clicking away at the type writer. The dance begins in just an hour. The yellow gowned woman sits in front of her vanity. A pearly jewelry box pops open and a mountain of jewels glisten. She picks out her favorite, a gift from her husband. Heels on, perfume sprayed, their carriage should arrive in the next fifteen minutes. She approaches his office and the door is closed.
 
Twice, she knocks.

Click. Click. Click.

"Are you coming?" She asks quietly following another knock. "I have too much work to do." His muffled voice can be heard behind the door. Slowly, she parts from the closed door. She refuses to cry, not when she's spent so long on her makeup, so long on her hair. But the woman finds herself outside of their estate, moon high in the sky and comforting her. Its light offers solace, more than her husband can. Her hands rise to cup her face. Beneath the cosmos, and twinkling stars, she weeps.

And weeps. And weeps. And weeps.
 
Click. Click. Click.

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I don't like this story. Romantic tales, especially tragic ones, aren't something I enjoy. Why does she cry instead of confronting him?
What a foolish woman. 

This one is a waste of time.

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Rise.

Stand.

Stand.

Keep standing.

Do not falter.

Write even if it hurts.

Write even if it hurts.

Write even if it hurts.

Rest.

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Repeat.

[ry0un0suke]

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Once upon a time, in a Kingdom along far, far away, there was a princess, fair and loved. The castle buzzes with planning for her wedding. From a distance, recluse from the Kingdom's limits in the depths of a forest, there's a cave with its mouth boarded up with a door. On its mossy top smoke billowed upwards. Eyes from within watch the happenings of the Kingdom. They watch the princess prepare her wedding gown, brush her hair, try on her jewelry. The gaze bears no admiration, the lens tint green. She colors a twisting emerald, shimmering from her castle and casting a telling light onto the cave.

 

"Mirror, mirror on the wall.

Who's the fairest of them all?"

 

Within the cave, magic glimmers. The figure looks at their reflection in the mirror, twisted features looking back at them.

 

"The princess you watch.

The one you stalk.

Eyes like jewels that twinkle for another.

To you, words will never utter."

 

Displeased with the mirror's answer, the bitter cave dweller sets their sets on the castle once more, the highest tower where the princess' chambers lie. Dark magics conjure at their tips, mutters at their lips. She will always be fair, she will always be true. Nothing will change, this the warlock ensures. The magic blows out, carried by the wind across the miles separating them. It enters the tower, wafting through the room and brushing over the princess in a light puff.

 

By day time, the castle erupts in hysteria. The Queen weeps, the King orders his men to find the finest doctors of the land.

 

"Father, stop it!" The warlock watches from his hut, words heard clear as day, as though he were there.  The princess urges for her father to stop his 'madness', hand upon his wrist in effort to pull him back. "That man is not my groom. He's in the sky! When the stars come, I'll introduce you to him, just please stop calling that man my beloved."

 

Fair, beautiful and true, and believing she's fallen in love with the moon.

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A short story by Indigo Lipovsky. 1857AC.

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Rise.

Bathe.

Eat.

Study.

Write.

Trash.

Write.

Trash.

Groom.

Makeup.

Leave.

Bathe.

Eat.

Sleep.

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Repeat.

[ry0un0suke]

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"You make me sick.

The way your eyes wander, bored with everything.

Your soul is full of evil.

Have you any care for those outside of yourself?

I hate you."

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"They look upon you in pity.

They can see it from miles away,

feel it.

Your sin.

Your putrid heart.

You think you're perfect?"

 

Her gaze fixates upon the mirror, hues reflecting back at herself. Brows furrow, digits curl tight. 

"Why won't you just--"

 

The door cracks open lightly following two light knocks. "Milady, the court has all gathered. Do you remember what today is?" A servant asks quietly. 

"-Why certainly." Her hands rise to run her thin digits through long, silky hair. "I'm to meet the prince from the kingdom north about our wedding. Yes, yes, Martha. I'm smarter than I look." Rising up, the princess briefly spares a glance to her reflection on her vanity's mirror. She stares, blankly, before collecting her crown and turning to the servant with a smile.

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Once                  

            upon

a                                        

         time...

a

princess                               

                                     gazed

upon                                                     

                                         her

reflection;

who's                                        

                         the

fairest                           

of      

              them

                           all?

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A short story by Indigo Lipovsky. 1858AC.
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I
can't
remember
what
I'm
supposed
to
do
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Repeat.

[ry0un0suke]

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I woke up in a cold sweat and all I could hear was screaming. Perhaps it was my own voice, as my husband placed both hands firm on my shoulder and shook me. He was saying something, I couldn't hear me. My throat ached, my head throbbed. But the screaming stopped. I'll wake the baby, I thought. Thus did I fall into a shameful bout of silence. It's been quiet, strangely so. I've been cast onto a dream and I watch the world around me move, as though I were only an observer with no real impact.

 

Have I had any impact? 

We move soon, to my homeland. I've not spoken to my father and mother since I was seventeen years old. I hope they've not fallen ill. Though illness would not take them first, they wouldn't allow it. I sit and ponder as we squeeze our entire life into suitcases and I swaddle a gift that keeps my grounded. This is real, of course. The world around me feels like little twinkles. Voices tear at my flesh and I feel small, unnoticed. I'm having trouble recalling everything I've done. I'm sure I wrote a book. 

I don't remember what it was called. 

Travel will be by boat. I believe I was writing another book, it was but a draft, a thought in my mind and cast about mental pages. But I don't remember it. Esshar cannot offer me what I need. In exchange for information, inspiration, I was only left with turmoil. It aches, yet I bear no telling scars. If I cannot see what's been done to me, did it happen at all. Was I truly here? Did I waste years of my life and youth on a fairytale?

 

I can't wait to introduce the family I made along the way to that of blood. I'll be scolded, even at my age, even at their age. But it'll simmer when they see her smile. I can't help but feel my worries melt away. She's my longevity, longer than anything I could have possibly written. Do they use them as coasters? An extra weight for paper? Equally fond and unpleasant memories.

I do not regret the book cannot remember. I have a copy, however, one I hold near and dear. It thrums, full of the ethereal stories of others who so happily would join a realm more pleasant than their own. I remember, now. I wished to have others join my stories.

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Once upon a time, where the whispers echo, a woman garbed in yellow sat atop the strongest branches of a tree. Her hand gripped at the wood, grasp tight as a careful gaze watched the path below. Despite the circumstance and shroud of night, she shines ever bright. Moonlight reflects from her yellow hood and cloak. Is she attempting to hide? Or guise herself as a massive star within the sky. Plain sight. Sharp hues narrow as the maintains a silence that contrasts her appearance. Hooved steps invade the silence, however, stomping through it as a carriage on the path below comes through. A weary man holds the reigns. Beneath the more extravagant hood sits a well-dressed man holding a briefcase. Her footing adjusts, soles pressing firm on the branches. The young woman's knees bend.

 

"Accomplices of the White Wolf will pay for their transgressions." she mutters before propelling herself from her tree post and crashing against the top of the carriage.

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'Canary' by Indigo Lipovsky. Draft.

 I'm glad I left. The environment wouldn't have been healthy for my daughter, for me. There are skilled doctors on my homeland. With my father and mother's connections just maybe I'll... get better. I can feel my mind tear into two and others emerge. I will treasure the fond memories and nurse my scars. 

 

It will make an excellent story nonetheless-- One born from my own nightmare. I do wish, however, that I could have said goodbye to the knight, made peace with the warlock, shared tea with a fallen mafioso, and figured out what I had done to the golden patriarch. I apologize if it felt like I was only really watching the world go by. At times, I'm a prisoner with my own flesh and the cell is shared with two others.

 

I have been told I am an observer and nothing more after all.

 

Sincerely,

Indigo Lipovsky

1868AC

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Concluding Indigo's story through a forum post. 

I truly appreciate those who took the time to build IC with her and even read her book. 

I was  completely unsatisfied with her at the end, unfortunately.