1. Chapter 1 #3
My lungs felt like they collapsed inside my chest at that single word—solitude.
When I’d first come to live with Aunt Ethel at nine, I hadn’t understood her rules, and I’d fought her on them.
I wanted to be allowed outside, so I’d pestered and whined endlessly—until she’d given me solitude.
The rooms we currently occupied were not at the very top of the tower.
No, there was another room farther up at the end of the long, winding stairwell.
We used it for storage. I was never allowed to leave these rooms and go into that stairwell unless she was punishing me by giving me solitude in that upper room.
The room had no windows.
Sometimes she had left me there only for a few hours.
Other times, she’d given me a “calming potion” and left me there for days with water but no food, too weak to stand and in a mental haze.
I was only ever allowed one candle, and it never lasted long.
The last time she’d used that punishment was after she’d taken away my precious dolls when I was thirteen, but just the mention of it left me in a cold sweat.
“No,” I whispered, twisting the fabric of my skirt in my hands. “I don’t need that.”
“You say that now, and yet I worry that in a week we will be having this same inane conversation. You know what happened to my sister. You know the tragedy that could befall countless families if you are not willing to help. Yet you insist on bringing it up time after time.”
“I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”
“Good. But just to be sure…” She stood and crossed to my bed, tossing my pillow aside and snatching up one of Gregor’s books I had hidden there.
“I will be taking this.” She stalked over to the fireplace and tossed the book in without hesitation.
“And each time you act in an ungrateful manner, I’ll burn another.
” She came back, grabbed both of our half-eaten bowls of stew, and threw them in the wash tub.
Stew splattered the walls and ground, but she ignored it and left the kitchen.
My breathing was pained and shallow, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, but I forced myself to breathe past the horrific panic that consumed my chest, then stood and cleaned up the mess she’d just made.
Aunt Ethel was asleep—and had been for some time—yet I waited a few moments more, gathering my courage before slipping from my bed. I didn’t have time to delay. I had to dress, gather the few things I would take with me, and then…go.
Climb down the tower. Leave my entire life behind.
Gain some semblance of freedom—I hoped.
I quickly dressed, taking the time to grab the back hem of my skirt and pull it forward through my legs, stuffing as much as I could into the sash at my waist so it wouldn’t be in the way as I climbed.
I grabbed the necklace my mother had gifted me from my bedside table and secured it around my neck.
Then I pulled out one of the long scarves that I used to bind my hair and placed a change of clothes, my aunt’s shoes, some food, and a water pouch in the middle.
I tied it in a bundle, then crossed to the balcony, grabbing Auntie’s cloak as I went.
I held the cloak as far out over the railing as I could and then let it go, watching as it plummeted and then slumped onto the ground.
My heart leapt to my throat. I was used to being up high; it was all I’d known for the past ten years, but watching that cloak fall made me realize just how high it was. If I lost my grip and fell…
No, I wouldn’t fall. I’d been practicing. I was good at clinging to the rocks. My grip was strong. My toes knew how to find the right holds.
I took my bundle of belongings and tied it to the back of my belt.
This was it. I was going. There had only been two visitors to my tower today, both with small injuries, so I still had my strength.
I glanced over my shoulder, at the shadowed figure of Aunt Ethel still sleeping soundly in her bed that blocked the door that only she was allowed to pass through.
She’d been my only comfort and companion since my parents died, and I would miss her.
I knew that much, but it wasn’t enough to make me want to stay, not when she would never allow me to have anything more than this set of rooms. My life was so small, and the world outside was so big.
I wanted the chance to discover at least a portion of it, to meet new people, to make a family—to make my own choices.
“Goodbye, Auntie,” I whispered, feeling as though there should have been more to say, but unable to find any more words.
I threw my leg over the banister, got a good toehold, and then let my other leg follow.
I was going, and I couldn’t hesitate. I was strong, but the longer it took for me to scale the tower, the more my strength would wane.
So I settled my weight on my feet and extended my arms to lower my body.
I moved my feet down to new holds, then gathered my courage, my heart beating out of my chest, and released one hand from the banister.
I found a grip on the rocks easily, then did the same with my other hand.
It felt familiar and secure. I’d been right to think it would be much the same as climbing the walls inside. I could do this. My body was strong.
I lowered myself again and again. Foot, foot, hand, hand. My hair tugged gently at my scalp as more of my hair was pulled over the ledge of the balcony. I was making steady progress, and I wasn’t worn out. This would work.
I moved down again, and there was a sudden rushing beside me.
Glancing over, I saw that instead of my hair being pulled over the ledge a little at a time, it was falling like water, tumbling toward me all at once.
I had the shortest moment of realizing my mistake, and I gripped the wall tighter, hoping that when the full weight of my hair pulled at my neck, I’d be strong enough to hold on.
The weight came, my head was viciously jerked back, and my fingers failed me, losing their grip on the stones. Nothing to hold on to. Nothing but air around me. In all my practice climbing, I’d never climbed with the full weight of my hair pulling on me.
And I was going to die for that mistake.