Chapter 1 What Happens After the Fairytale Ends?

For twelve long years, this tower has been both my home and my cage. I live on the edge of town, high above the villagers, in an enchanted tower, forced to watch as life below goes on without me. I was only four when my parents realised there was something wrong with me. They called me cursed. I tried to be better for them. I tried to be good. But sometimes the ice inside my soul would slip out, and I couldn’t stop it from spreading. It started slowly with little flurries of snowflakes and a flower frozen in time, but it kept growing, reaching farther each time. By the age of six, my parents were afraid of me. Everyone was. They sought out witches and warlocks, tried to bind the magic that lived inside me. But nothing could stop the cold that had taken root in my veins. So they built a tower. I remember seeing it for the first time, standing at its base and craning my neck back just to glimpse the single window at its peak. It was so high, so bright against the clouds. I thought it was beautiful, a place where I could touch the sky. I was so excited when they offered to let me climb the stairs. That was twelve years ago. The last time I ever saw those stairs. I know because I’ve marked each day on the walls. I remember stepping inside, in awe of the sheer number of books. Shelves upon shelves, floor to ceiling and a ladder on wheels that I’d already imagined riding like some glorious ship through the air. I’d just reached out to touch it when the door slammed behind me. An iridescent shimmer spread through the air, and I knew. They’d locked me in, sealed it shut with a spell and left me to watch from that single window as the world went on without me.

Today marks my nineteenth birthday. Gilfred is here to celebrate with me. I should probably clarify; Gilfred is a gecko, and my best friend. He comes and goes as he pleases. How? I’ve yet to figure out. I’ve tried to follow him, of course. I’ve spent hours watching him, waiting for him to show me his secret. Once, I even covered the floor in flour to track his footprints. He led me around in dizzying circles before disappearing altogether, leaving only tiny white prints mocking me from the corners. I’ve since accepted that Gilfred is smarter than I am, and far freer. He’s not trapped here, not bound by spells or walls.

“Okay, Gilfred, today is a special day,” I tell the little lizard perched on my windowsill. He tilts his head, eyes blinking slowly, and I know he’s listening. He always listens. He just doesn’t speak, which is fine. I talk enough for both of us. Once a week, supplies appear through a magical chest at the end of my bed. It took me two full weeks to open it the first time. I was starving. Out of food, out of patience, and nearly out of toilet paper, which led me to consider tearing pages from my books. A desperate thought, but I was very desperate. I’d already torn the room apart searching for a way out before I finally opened the chest, ready to destroy whatever was inside. I found food, water, toilet paper, ink and candles. Everything I needed to survive. Eventually, I learned that the chest refills itself every week. And once a year, on my birthday, it brings me gifts. A fresh stack of books and new art supplies. Today is that day. I’ve read every story in this room a thousand times. I’ve painted every inch of wall I could reach. So yes, to say I’m excited would be the understatement of the century.

I’ve learned to keep track of time by the sun outside my window, with how it drifts across the stone floor in slow, predictable patterns. So I know exactly when the chest will be replenished.

“Are we ready, Gilfred?!” I ask, clasping my hands in excitement. The little gecko lifts his head, gives his tail a proud wiggle, and scampers up my arm until he’s settled on my shoulder.

“Okay, buddy,” I whisper, grinning, “here we go.”

The chest gives its usual low creak as the lid creaks open, and I can’t help the sound that bursts out of me. A very undignified squeal. The scent of parchment and fresh paint greets me like an old friend. On one side sit the usual rations: bread, fruit, tea, and other unexciting necessities. But it’s the other side that makes my heart flutter. New paint pots in every colour imaginable. Clean brushes wrapped in a soft cloth. And beside them… five brand new books.

Five new ways to escape this tower and the quiet that’s been gnawing at my thoughts for years. I lift them out one by one and lay them neatly on my bedspread.

“The Midnight Duke.”

“Embers and Lace.”

“Kissed by Starlight.”

“The Gentleman and the Ghost.”

“Frost and Flame.”

I tilt my head, studying the covers. Everyone seems to be dramatically swooning or passionately glaring at one another while conveniently half-dressed. I blink at them, my cheeks warming.

“Well,” I murmur, glancing at Gilfred, “they’re… interesting.”

He gives a slow blink, utterly unimpressed.

“I suppose we’ll just have to read one and find out what all the fuss is about.”

I started with Kissed by Starlight. Mainly because the cover showed two people under a moon sharing a kiss, something I had read about before. That was something I knew I liked. I have quite a few books where there’s a damsel in distress and a King who will save the girl, and in the end, it always ends with a kiss. I love those stories, but I also wish they didn’t end. I long to know what happens after the kiss.

I read the whole thing in one sitting. Half the day is gone, and Gilfred thankfully has disappeared, because this book was steamy! I have finally found out what happens after the kiss, and it did not disappoint. If anything, it made me curious for more. There was a fluttery feeling down below that I’d never experienced before. I would say it’s in my vagina, but from what I have read from this book, I think it’s more appropriate to call it a pussy now. I would also say from my newly learnt phrases that I am fucking wet and horny. I sigh to myself, grinning like an idiot as I hold the book close to my chest. I have more hope now than ever before that someone will come to rescue me one day, but instead of a kiss, I’d like to be taken under the stars by a man who loves me so severely that he can’t help but fuck me with such little restraint that I wonder if his cock will tear me in two. I sigh again and say a little prayer to whatever gods are listening. Please send someone to rescue me. And then I pick up another book.