The forest is behind me.
Barely.
The moon is high, the wind is a bitch, and my lungs are made of knives. Every breath tastes like bark, blood, and distant stew. My legs are raw from branches. My feet are frozen. My dignity? Somewhere back in that moss orgy pit with the cannibal cauldron crew.
They ate him.
Protein, they said.
Fucking protein.
I stumble up a hill of ice-crusted stones, slip, curse, shove forward again. My shawl is half-torn. My nipples could slice cheese. There's frost on my eyebrows and my thigh paint is flaking like pastry.
And then—
A shadow.
A silhouette.
A tower.
A tower!
Stone. Cold. Ugly. Glorious. Like someone stabbed the sky with a keep and left it to rot.
I sprint.
Door. Huge. Dark oak. Iron-banded. Locked.
Of course.
"HELLO?" I shout, fists pounding. "Anyone in there? Please? I'm cute and mostly harmless!"
No answer.
I kick it.
Immediately regret it.
The door doesn't budge. My foot screams treason.
I bang again. "Come on! I'm cold! I'm wet! I'm not wearing any pants and I just escaped a lesbian cannibal cult! I deserve hospitality!"
Still nothing.
So I start kicking.
Harder.
Cursing in three languages, plus some made-up ones.
"Open up, you moody recluse bastard! I know you're in there brooding like a tragic warlock with unresolved trauma!"
I punch the door again.
Ow.
This is how I die, isn't it?
Half naked, painted like a failed pottery experiment, screaming at architecture.
Just as I'm about to throw myself against the door one last time (and possibly shatter every bone in my left boob), I hear it—
Creak.
A tiny wooden shutter groans open, high—stupidly high—above. Torchlight flickers out, and a face leans through the narrow slit.
At first I think it's a hallucination. Or karma mocking me with illusions of long-lost brat royalty.
Then—
"Saya?" the voice calls down, tight with disbelief. "Saya, is that really you?"
I squint up through the flurries, ice in my lashes, frozen snot in my nose, one tit halfway out of what's left of my shawl.
"…Loma?"
"Oh gods, it is you!"
I blink hard. "Loma?! Princess Loma?! The—the one from the Amazon camp?! The screechy one who wouldn't march in sandals?"
"Yes! It's me!"
"No fucking way!"
I break into hysterical laughter-slash-sobbing, pounding the door with my open palms.
"Let me in! I'm freezing my ass off!"
There's a pause.
Then Loma's voice turns sheepish.
"I… can't."
"What?"
"I can't let you in. I'm… I'm kind of a prisoner."
I freeze. More than I already was.
"A what now?"
"I was kidnapped," she says quickly, like it's a mild inconvenience. "By a warlord. Big, angry, horny type. He locked me up in this tower and says I have to marry him or he won't let me out."
"You're joking."
"I wish I was!"
Of course. Of course I stumble through a cannibal forest only to find the one girl more dramatic than me locked in a literal fucking fairy tale prison.
Because life is just so original.
I stare up at her, jaw slack, fists frozen mid-knock.
"He kidnapped you. Locked you in a tower. To what, starve you into submission?"
Loma snorts, delicate as ever. "Oh no. Nothing so crude. There's a magic samovar in my chamber."
"…what."
"It replenishes itself daily. Tea. Cookies. Occasionally scones."
"You have a self-replenishing snack fountain and you're calling yourself a prisoner?"
"I'm being held against my will, Saya!"
"I'm about to die in a snowdrift while you sip enchanted chamomile and nibble goddamn shortbread!"
She leans farther out, looking genuinely distressed. "Cruel, isn't it?"
I just gape. Frozen. Frostbitten. Betrayed by reality itself.
"Do you at least have a rope?" I yell. "Toss one down. Let me in."
"I don't," Loma calls back. "If I had a rope, I'd have escaped by now!"
I pace in a small circle, stomping my feet to keep blood moving and sanity from fleeing.
"What about—what about an incredibly long braid? You used to have stupid long hair!"
"I cut it in solidarity with the Sisterhood!" she snaps. "You were there!"
"Right. Fuck. Then—then bed linens! You're a princess! You have sheets! Stitch them together! Make a rope!"
"I tried!" Loma wails. "It's not long enough!"
I let out a strangled, furious sound.
Trapped inside with endless tea and cookies.
Trapped outside with cold, regret, and a half-frozen vagina.
Gods save me from other women's drama.
I hug myself tighter, shivering so hard my bones rattle.
"Loma," I shout, "is there anything else up there we can use as a rope?"
A pause.
"There's a tapestry."
Hope flares like a match in the dark.
"Perfect. Tear it up. Cut it in strips. Tie them together. Toss the end down here."
Another pause.
"I can't," Loma says.
I blink. "Why the fuck not?"
"It's… really nice."
I go silent for a full beat. Just staring up at the tower window. My eye twitches.
"It's a tapestry, Loma."
"It has a unicorn," she says defensively.
"Okay. Listen to me." I take a breath. "It's obviously a magic tapestry. It was placed there by the universe as a plot device. It will probably reassemble itself the moment I climb up it."
"…Are you sure?"
"YES. NOW TEAR THE FUCKING THING."
Above, I hear the long, reluctant sound of rrriiiiipppp.
"That's it," I mutter. "Shred that unicorn, princess."
"Wait," I shout, suddenly alarmed, "tie the other end to something solid first! A bedpost, a dresser, your tragic sense of romantic delusion—anything!"
Another pause.
Then: "Oh. Right."
"Last thing we need," I mutter to myself, "is you tossing the whole damn thing down like a sentimental idiot and watching it float away while I freeze to death in a snow puddle."
Because of course she would.