Seriously, who hasn’t heard the stories about the Gartoyli Beast? My father certainly had. Of that, there can be no doubt. Hadn’t he put a sword in my hand on my fifth year? Hadn’t he taught me how to use it well? That smug Alben. He could tell you. If he could get over being bested by a girl, that is.
It is to my shame then that I sit here. Trapped.
Do you think father and the others will come for me? I worry.
Oh, the Gartoyli has given me a fair apartment in his impregnable fortress. There is a straw bed. It’s even clean and there are no bugs. How do they manage that? Anyway, I have fancy clothes. Though, I shudder at what they might think back home to see me wearing a fluffy, frilly pink satin dress. And they don’t fit quite right. Still, the mute attendants take care of my more basic needs.
I do want my freedom though, and that they won’t give me. Am I to be alone forever here in the high tower? No one to talk to ever again?
What? Well, no. No offense intended. You, my dear hairbrush, are my dearest friend. The only one I can talk to really.
I know! Let’s practice for a bit. Stroke, you can be the razor sharp sword. I will be the brave knight and we shall march on the Crag, kill the monster, and free the fair maidens. What do you say?