rapunzel
...her prison. Was this laughable excuse of a life all she had to live for? She had wasted every breath she had ever taken, promising it that she would use it to break free and yet she remained trapped within, ensconced in a prison full of muffled noises and weak light. And now even the stars had been blown out by the cold wind that spun senselessly through the night sky. Wasn’t there supposed to be more than this? More than a mere physical life? More than the cooperation of muscles and organs and atoms? She had heard rumors of such things, but never really expected to find anything. What was joy? What was pain? What was hope? There were so many questions whose answers didn’t fit or were nowhere to be found. A life that the rest of the world saw as full of chance, opportunity, and safety was bleak and static for as far as she could see. Her emotions couldn’t be forced into the conformity that words allowed. Her face was etched with the most utter calm; a face of smooth marble. A face that she hated. The world was black and would always be black. Soon the trees would turn white with frost, ghostly mourners that not an eye would see, for even the sun had been smothered and extinguished. And now all there was to do was wait. Wait for the inevitable. To wait for the cold to come creeping through her veins, chilling her fingers, freezing the features that mocked her. Not even the tower could shelter her from the approaching frost. What was worse? To be trapped, waiting, mulling over this world from within cold walls? Or to be crumbled with the stars? She knew the escape had always been there. But was she brave enough to confront the cold and starless expan...