The princess in the tower was beautiful, which was one of the reasons men made the arduous journey across the sun-scorched ruins to the monolithic stone that entombed her. Those that survived the trials, which were numerous and cunning, arrived in her suite, a colorful and well-furnished space that nevertheless seemed as desolate as the environs without. These men might find her in the dining room, or in the music room, or in the bedroom. No matter where they found her, no matter the time of day, her would-be rescuers found her staring at them, intent, unblinking, emotionless.
Her hair was night and her eyes were stars, distant and faintly gleaming. Some called her complexion porcelain when it was truer to call it wan. She wore a high-necked dress of dark color, gloves, and slippers.
One brave man, finding her sitting upon her bed, approached boldly and kissed her. (He had heard this broke curses, and she had a well-proportioned face, with a small nose and thick lips, that encouraged such actions.)
She looked at him sadly, a shadow of injury marred her placid features, and she stood and locked herself in an adjoining room until he went away.
Another brave man arrived while she sat at dinner. He introduced himself. She did not answer. He explained that he was from such-and-such a kingdom and was a well-endowed member of such-and-such a family and that he had suffered many trials to free her from her imprisonment. She stared at him, unmoving and unmoved, so that he felt compelled to continue, detailing his travels and his aspirations and his responsibilities.
Finally, exasperated and nearly hoarse, he cried, “Woman, why do you not speak?”
The princess turned away. The brave man waited expectantly. He touched her shoulder. She stood and looked at him impassively. He turned away, unable to meet those dark, distant eyes, and finally left.
A third brave man came armed with spells and talismans, for it was obvious now, to those who kept up with the news concerning curses and the cursed, that the princess in the stone tower was a special case. He poured oil on her head and draped a shawl of goatskin around her shoulders; he muttered incantations and flicked holy water at her face; he danced and sang and pricked her thumb with the needle of a spinning wheel. She watched him with the blank eyes of an idol.
“If only I knew your name!” he cried. “Then I could break this spell.”
By this time, brave men began to move on to greener pastures. Princesses everywhere were in the thrall of wizards and stepmothers and elves, and this princess in this tower seemed, to many, a rather inconvenient prize. “She’s not even that beautiful,” they said, which, compared with others in comparable situations, was probably true.
But eventually another young man came, because young men must come, and he, being drawn by the dangers less frequented, as some are drawn to the books less read, arrived finally in the princess’s suite. She was in the sitting room, sitting, and stared at him. He sat, too. He said nothing. He closed his eyes, tired from his long journey and the hazardous ascent.
He slept, accidentally, and then, waking, found her still looking at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled and remained seated, listening to the silence. After a time, he heard under the silence something else, a motionless presence like a predator watching, or a child peering around a corner when she should be in bed. He looked at the princess and felt her shifting, inching toward him. She did not move, but the stars of her eyes seemed to shimmer faintly.
He listened now more intently, and he began to hear–the long, unchanging days, the empty rooms, the clockwork movement, the empty hands and noteless expanse and creeping fingers of hopelessness. And still he listened, and he began to hear, faintly, like ants in the grass or clouds scraping against one another, the stirrings of her soul, the flicker of the only flame in leagues.
The princess blinked. She turned her head away from him, just a smidge.Then she spoke, and she told him her name.