The Girl in the Tower

Once upon a time a girl lost her shoe and became a princess. Once upon a time a girl bit a bad apple, died, and became a princess. Once upon a time a girl pricked her finger on a spinning wheel, fell asleep, and became a princess. Zel has read all these stories with the same lessons and the same happily ever after endings.

And she believes it’s all bullshit.

Zel opens her eyes as they readjust to the dark room and slides off her bed, feet hitting the cold tile floor. She grabs her shawl and makeshift socks before exiting her room and saunters down the stairs to the frigid living space. Stopping in the center of the room, she peers behind her towards Mother’s bedroom, seeing if her guardian is awake. The door to Mother’s bedroom is shut, meaning Zel has a moment of freedom before her day begins.

Quietly, Zel tip toes to the tower’s doors and opens them letting the pale light flood the space. She peers out towards the grey view; grey clouds, grey skies, grey and dying trees from the encompassing forest around their tower. She lays her elbows down on the tile edge, flinches from the cold, and settles down with her head in her hands. She looks down at the bottom of the tower towards the thick faded purple vines with yellowish thorns wrapped around the base. No gravewalker is coming up this tower, Zel thinks, and nothing will ever leave.

Holding out her finger, Zel points and counts all the gravewalkers dragging themselves around on the ground, dozens of feet below where she is. She counts two dozen of the greenish skinned and purple spotted freaks, not counting the sides of the tower she can’t see. More than usual, she remarks, especially this deep in the woods. Mother had told her once that gravewalkers usually stay towards the village for “fresh meat,” whatever that means.

Zel sighs and draws her eyes towards the one pinpoint of color in the far away skyline. The castle, and the only thing giving her hope for a different life. Even the faded salmon color of the walls and the dingy gold of the roof and spires contrast the dull sky. She’d never tell Mother, but Zel daydreams of a life in the castle often. She imagines what it would be like laying on a plush, blush pink bed with servants massaging her feet and feeding her delicious sweets. She dreams of having a beautiful pink ballgown decorated in pearls and glasslike slippers as a prince from a far away kingdom saves her from a dangerous dragon. Most of all, she daydreams of freedom and making her own decisions with no one being able to stop her.

“Zel,” Mother calls out, snapping Zel from her fantasy. She quickly sits up, closing the door, opening the small windows for some light, and runs to their makeshift kitchen pretending she was making breakfast. Her daydreams stopped her from her morning chores: cook breakfast, clean the tower, read one book, and practice her writing. All useless skills Zel believes, well, besides cooking. None of that will help them against the walkers.

Mother comes striding down the stairs with her gravewalker armor on and her black curls messily draped over the sides of her pale face. Her dark, narrow eyes are fixated on Zel. She forces her head down to look at the empty pot, pretending to stir something. Mother pauses at the bottom of the steps to stretch out her body, yawning. She walks over to the kitchen and kisses Zel on the top of her head, then smirks.

“I know you were looking outside,” she accuses.

Zel freezes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mother squints and grabs Zel’s wrist that’s holding the spoon. “We’ve played these games before.” She drops her eyes down to the bottom of the stove, then back up to Zel. “There’s no fire nor food in that pot for you to cook with.” Mother releases her grip.

Zel frowns, caught in the act, while she rubs her wrist. Mother smiles at the pout and walks to the small, wooden table and sits down on a stool. “It’s okay to be curious about life out there, Zel. But you know those gravewalkers are not to be tempted.”

Zel drops her spoon and turns to face Mother. “They can’t be that bad. I mean, you’ve gone out on hunts dozens of times and managed to stay alive.”

“That’s because,” Mother says slowly, “We need food on our table. And I know how to protect myself-”

“I’m not fragile,” Zel interrupts, voice low. She marches to Mother, standing right in front of her as their familiar argument bubbles back up her throat. “And if I don’t know how to protect myself, that’s your fault. I can’t exactly learn anything from the fairytale books you’ve given me.”

Mother frowns from her seat. “Zel, I don’t want you going out there. You’re too precious to waste. You know the basic protections against them: cover your skin and change your scent. Those are for worst case scenarios. You are not to seek out the gravewalkers.”

“I have ideas on how to stop them, how to bypass them, and maybe even find a cure someday to have a normal life.”

“A cure?” Mother repeats, almost mockingly. “Darling, there’s no beating these things. There’s only survival. Not even the smartest healers in the castle had a clue on where to begin for a cure.”

Zel paces around as she argues. “And how would you know? We’re stuck up in this tower all day and all night. You’re not out long enough on your quests to get that much information. And you’ve said that the village was taken over by gravewalkers, that there’s no one left. How could there be talk of cure advancements if no one else is there?”

Mother sits up straighter. “Zel, why are you attacking me right now?” She places her hand on her heart like she’s aghast.

“Why are you ignoring my questions?” Zel spit back, side eyeing her.

Sighing, Mother runs her hands through her hair and leans forward on the table. She gestures for Zel to sit across from her, and she does. “You were too young to remember when all of this happened. I was there when the outbreak started. I lived in the village. I saw the horror. I watched neighbors, friends, and family turn into those monsters and rip the skin off the people they loved. There’s no way to defeat it. Every weapon we had was useless against them.”

Zel rolls her eyes and mutters to herself. “You couldn’t have tried every weapon.”

Mother pauses, staring directly at Zel. Zel ignores her stare and looks down at the table.

“Is this because I won’t let you out on hunts?”

Zel strides back to the table and slams her hands down. The smack echoes through the room. “Of course it is! You keep me locked up here as a prisoner, like it’s going to protect me from anything. What’s your grand plan, huh? Do you think we’re going to live forever? What happens when you die? Oh, that’s right. You want me to feed you to them. Roll you out of the tower and leave you to die. Then what about me? I clearly don’t know enough to protect myself. I’ll starve up here and die. What about my life? I’m sick of being stuck up here living the same day over and over. I want to marry a prince, I want a happy ending. But I can’t get one if I’m stuck up here with you forever.”

“With me?” Mother repeats, sharply standing up. “That’s it.”

Zel steps back shocked, but Mother grabs her by the arm. Her nails dig into Zel’s skin like claws as she drags her over to the tower tower doors and opens them. Zel fights back and squirms trying to break Mother’s grip. It doesn’t help; it makes Mother hold tighter. She grabs Zel’s neck and holds her out of the tower. Zel pants with fear, not being able to breathe regularly as strands of her golden hair fall in front of her face.

“You see those things? Normal and fantasy went out the window when these monsters showed up. Gravewalkers don’t have empathy or morals. They will eat you if they have the chance because they work on instinct. No thoughts or judgement, only hunger and desire. And what do they desire? Innocent people like you. To survive these things, you have to act like them. Instinct only. I grabbed you before a gravewalker ate you after your birth mother dumped you on the street. Why? It was instinct. I climbed this tower with you slung around me because I knew we needed to find shelter fast. Instinct. I've gone out and scavenged for years and years to keep food on our table and find you birthday presents because it was a mother’s instinct to protect you. If you had a good instinct, you would have sensed I was going to grab you and fought back harder. I’m sorry if I can’t provide you with a fairytale, but there was never going to be one for you anyways. Not in the world we live in. So if you want to leave here, grow up and be thankful that I’m providing for you. Or, go out and face the walkers yourself with your fairytales. I am not having this conversation again. Do you understand me?”

Hot tears pour out of Zel’s eyes as she nods. “Yes, yes. I understand, Mother.”

Mother pulls her back in and tosses her down towards the floor. Zel hits the floor and cries out from the impact. She looks down at her arms, now covered in scratches from the floor. Mother walks away, grabbing her satchel, and heads to the floor door.

Before she closes the door, she pauses to look at Zel. “I’m going on a hunt. Three days this time. I expect an apology when I arrive, yes?”

Zel shakes, covering her small wounds. “Yes, Mother.”

“And after, I’ll start training you so you’re ready to go out there.” Mother shuts the door, leaving Zel alone.

She should be happy, Mother wants to train her, but her anger is still tight in her chest. So you’re ready to go out there. She is ready to go out there, Zel thinks, Mother can’t see that she’s strong.

Once upon a time there was a girl who was forced against her will to live in a tower. She hated everything about it. One day, she hatched a plan to escape, left her captor in the dust, defeated all the gravewalkers that stood in her path, and got her happily ever after in the castle. Zel likes this ending better.

Zel, with a shaky breath, uses her instinct to escape the tower. She packs, puts on her long sleeve dress, and leaves using the same door Mother did, not leaving a note or anything. She won’t need one when she comes back with a walker’s head on their table. Zel grins imagining Mother’s face when that happens.

She climbs down the tower shaft. Opening the door, Zel is blinded by the daylight. She’s never seen so much of it before. She weaves herself through the vines, careful to not get any more scratches. Out of the vines, she stares at the walkers, and they stare back. Zel carefully tip toes away from the tower, heart beating faster with each step. Her eyes dance around searching for the exit of Mother’s secret hiding spot.

Something grabs her. Zel whips around. A walker got her. Its leathery hand wraps around her arm, and she’s suddenly thankful for Mother’s gift of the dress she’s wearing. Zel jumps at the touch, kicks the monster in the stomach, and it stumbles backwards. She gains her ground and runs away from it but keeping her gaze towards it. As she runs farther away, she runs into something, making her fall down into the dead grass.

Another walker. Zel freezes flat on her back as the walker swipes and growls at her. She scrambles backward, crawling as fast as she can. Another walker grabs her shoulders, grip tighter than Mother’s had ever been. She whips her head around and smacks the creature’s arms like a bug landed on her shoulder. The other walker grabs her ankles, and Zel yells out from the grasp.

Zel shakes and squirms trying to free herself, but it’s no use. The walkers got her despite everything. How could she be so stupid? She knows the steps, she knows how to get past them.

Her smell. She didn’t mask her smell.

While the walkers close in on her, Mother’s voice floods her mind. You’re too precious to waste. You don’t have any survival instincts. You’ll die out there. Mother was right, and tears spill out of Zel’s eyes as she remembers she didn’t even leave a note.