Page 8 of Down from the Tower

This golden city is painted in lies, and it’s a wonder if the people here know about the death beyond the walls, or if it’s simply unimportant because in their day to day lives, it doesn’t affect them.

But if the princess is helping people cheat death, the Reapers will eventually find them. Once her magic wears off, short or long term, there’s no escaping the eyes of a Reaper.

She sleeps rather peacefully for someone playing God. Her hair glows every so often, which is really weird as she slumbers. I’ve used my shadows to flick her hair three times now, but it does nothing to disturb her rest.

Glancing to one side of her room, I watch the peculiar cat she has resting on the windowsill. There are bars locking her in here, but they are wide enough for the cat to come and go. There’s a drop to the slanted roof before it plateau’s, but I guess it doesn’t bother the feline. I’ve observed the creature for several long minutes, and I’m positive it can see me.

Pink and purple stripes… I’ve only known one person who had such a strange style, and he certainly wasn’t a cat. I send wisps of shadow down to caress his fur, watching as he meows contentedly without giving anything away. There’s no way this cat knows anything about the past. Surely if it were some foul being from Wonderland it would detest me.

When she groans in her sleep a little while later, I’m sitting in the rafters of her room, lazily circling the shadows around my fingertips as I watch. She’s rolled enough that the top of her dress is resting dangerously low, which wouldn’t matter if Death wasn’t watching from above.

As much as I need to go and decide what to do with Midas, she’s piqued my attention. The rumors of Tressa are all over the map, and this princess isn’t what I expected at all.

She’s young, although she should be cresting thirty soon, meaning we’re roughly the same mortal age. I might not be aging like the living in Mystica, but she should be twice as old as she looks if the rumors have any merit. I can tell she’s sheltered, but the racy nightgown is a surprise I didn’t see coming.

It’s tight across the chest, and when she stretches she keeps her pretty eyes closed, skating her fingertips up and over a taut breast, peeking the nipple. Without looking, the other hand travels beneath the blanket, and she releases a breathy sigh.

Well, this is more fun than sleeping.

Her breathing picks up, and I relax on the rafter above her bed. She doesn’t show anything I shouldn’t see, like her modesty stays intact even when asleep.

She keeps going for another moment, before her brows scrunch and she stops playing. It’s a strange reaction, but maybe she’s still trapped in sleep. I’m sad to watch the show end.

I wait a moment to see if she does more. When she doesn’t I blow the shadows downward, letting one take the shape of a hand and caress her cheek. She leans into the soft touch, and I laugh quietly beneath my breath, grasping her hair in a different shadowy hand. She still doesn’t react to that, so I shift the shadow to her face.

That makes her startle, and I rip the shadows away as she wakes, sharp eyes snapping open.

She looks with her eyes first, not moving her head. Above her, I can slip back into the dark and remain unseen. As she rubs her eyes she sits up, looking around the room.

“Cheshie,” she grumbles, gesturing to the feline. “Come down from there. Y-you can’t play on the roof at night.”

A yawn escapes, but she kicks her legs off the bed anyway. She paces over to the window, moving to grab the fat, fluffy cat, who meows and jumps out the window.

My eyes widen, jumping up from the rafter, but she blows out a breath and turns back to the bed. Her voice pitches higher. “Silly cat! You’re going to eat too many treats and not be able to jump back in until morning!”

She paces over to a dresser that’s got more paint supplies on it than brushes, and I curiously jump down, the shadows cloaking any noise as I walk to the window. The bars are too close together for her to leave, but the cat fits through fine.

I figured a lonely tower would be further away from the rest of the roof. But if she jumped and had decent balance, she could follow the slope to a plateau a few feet down. She wouldn’t fall off unless she couldn’t control her momentum, and the feline looks at me as he paces across the roof, before hopping through an open window and disappears.

“Hearing bumps in the night,” she grumbles, and I turn once more. She’s brushing at her hair a little violently, glaring at the reflection in her mirror. “Pull yourself together. Princesses don’t make things up.”

I frown. She’s having a whole conversation with herself.

She brushes furiously at her hair, closing those pretty oceanic eyes so she doesn’t see her reflection in the mirror. Curiously, I turn and walk towards her, catching myself in the mirror.

My lip twitches. Mirrors, one of the strangest doorways in life. Not one I know how to cross, but it’s always interesting to see my shadow self reflected back at me.

Licking my lips, I glance around. I know from walking across the rooftops of the castle today that this tower sits higher than anywhere else, but I hadn’t bothered to investigate until now. Midas is my target, not some princess with no social life and glowing hair. Ray might think she’s sinister, but I think she’s just one nut north of the looney bin.

Her eyes stay closed, so I keep glancing around. There’s a map on the wall here, but something is certainly wrong. Since when is Tressa an island? I walked here from the forest, sliding over the walls when I had no other choice with the help of my shadows. It wasn’t easy. Something pushes against Tressa, a force like I’ve never felt before. Getting back out will be even more of a pain, since the protection over Tressa pushes in, not out.

Strange, strange magic.

A scream draws me from my thoughts, and she spins around with the hairbrush in hand. My eyebrows lift at the same time that the door rattles, and we both glance over as it’s thrown open, two guards stumbling in. A younger one tries to straighten his uniform, and the older one looks one step away from stabbing him.

“Princess Rapunzel,” the elder says, glaring around the room. He doesn’t see me, and she continues to stare at me with rage. “We… heard you scream.”

She clears her throat, gripping the handle of the brush with both hands. “Right. Bad dreams. The show in the parlor today really got to me.”

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