Months had passed since there’d been someone else in the tower. The girl couldn’t even recall the last words that had been uttered to her by another living being. It wasn’t until she emerged from her room to fix herself a blueberry muffin that she realized the footsteps which had been reverberating throughout her home for the past fifteen minutes had not simply been a figment of her imagination -- they were real, and came from a boy.

Hidden securely in the darkness of the hallway, the girl watched him. She watched his ornate, scarlet silks shift in the air as he strode about, his gilded weapon balanced carefully between gloved fingers. She watched his clean, dark hair gleam in the sunlight that flooded into the room through the open window. She watched his jewel-toned eyes skim over the room, taking in every detail of the space but her. She watched him, like a cat would watch a rodent before ensnaring it in its claws.

And then she stepped out of the shadows.

* * *

“Hello,” the boy heard a silvery voice croon. He pivoted on his heel, heart racing and fingers curling around the dagger at his side, only to see a girl standing before him, barefoot and clad in a simple white dress.

“Who are you?” he responded in a low voice, hating how his words trembled as he forced them out of his mouth. He’d been waiting for a while now, anticipating for the monster that dwelled within the structure to make an appearance. But as minutes slipped by, the only demon that showed its grotesque face was anxiety.

She smiled, and pearly white teeth flashed between blood-red lips. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers loosely interlaced in nonchalance. The pointed fangs he’d braced himself for, the poisoned claws that had haunted his dreams after his brother was murdered -- neither of them were in sight. The only thing that seemed strange about her was her white-blonde hair; it spilled past her knees and gleamed like liquid silver as the gentle breeze stirred it to and fro, the color of it resembling cream and moonlight and the stars that shone through opaque clouds.

“Who are you?” the girl echoed in response, charcoal eyes gleaming with laughter. The boy tensed as she walked towards the scullery in the corner and open a cupboard.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d prepared himself for a monster inhabiting the tower, a witch that had eyes glowing with malice and teeth stained with blood -- not the girl standing before him, who was utterly, undeniably human.

The boy didn’t realize how tightly he’d been clutching his dagger before he slowly released it, blood rushing back into his hand. The girl didn’t seem to notice; she merely continued to rummage through the cupboard before producing bags of flour and sugar and more ordinary baking items. Several minutes passed as the girl stirred the ingredients together in a bowl, and soon, she was slipping a pan of what looked like blueberry muffins into the oven. He gave in.

“I’m a prince from a nearby kingdom,” he hesitantly explained, “I’m here to. . . find someone.”

Something.

The girl tilted her head at him, her gaze somewhat perplexed. “Well, little prince,” she began, a smile once again turning the corners of her lips as she lifted her hands and gestured around the room, “There’s currently no one in this tower but you and me.”

Somehow, the boy found himself believing her. And somehow, he felt relief -- sweet, blissful relief -- slowly begin filtering through his emotions.

Before he could say anything again, the girl leaned over and extracted the tray from the oven, blowing on the steam that curled from the muffins like hazy fingers snatching at the air. She plucks a small piece off of one of them and quickly pops it in her mouth, tipping her head back and laughing like a child as she savored the taste.

“Muffin?” she offered.  

* * *

The girl wanted to keep him. She rather liked his prismatic eyes, the elegant arch of his cheekbones, and the rich lilt that accented the way he spoke. And although both his looks and his articulation were not remotely different than that of the several others who’d managed to climb up her tower, there was simply something familiar about him that kindled her curiosity -- curiosity that hadn’t been roused in a long, long time.

Long after his untouched muffin had gone cold, the boy spoke once again. “I’ll go now.”

The girl, who’d downed her muffin and was already getting started on her second, turned towards him. “Go where?” she inquired placidly, tucking a lock of snowy hair behind her ear.

“To find the witch,” he said, then immediately regretted it. Witch, witch, witch; why couldn’t he have said anything other than the word witch? Almost imperceptibly, the girl’s eyes widened, and he held his breath, waiting for her to respond.

“Witch?” she reiterated in bewilderment. The boy, once again, did not reply; he only stood up and walked over to the window, the one that he’d used to climb into the tower merely half an hour ago, swung both legs over the windowsill, and began making his way down the tower.

Before him, the forest loomed, foreboding and sinister as setting sun enveloped it in shadows. The woodland at night was not a place where one should be looking for a monster, yet what would his family think of him if he returned home without having avenged his brother? Would they forgive him if he did not come back bearing the witch’s corpse, but instead empty-handed and smelling of sugar and blueberries?

A noise tugged him from his thoughts, a low, feral growl, the sound almost too soft for the boy to catch. Heart pounding erratically in his chest, the boy instinctively took a step back -- just as something immense and black launched itself out of the trees and straight towards him.

He reached for the dagger at his side and hurled it at the beast, only to have it bounce off uselessly against the bared fangs that dripped saliva. He could only stare helplessly at the monstrosity as it stalked towards him, the creature growing so close that he could make out the ruby glow of its eyes in the dim light and smell the scent of rotting flesh on its breath.

He was trapped.

It was almost funny, he realized, that he left his kingdom intending to serve his family and his brother’s memory only for himself to be served as dinner.

He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for claws against his flesh and teeth closing around his throat -- but neither came. There was the sound of something tearing through meat and bone, then a high pitched whine, followed by the thump of something hitting the ground.

He opened his eyes.

Standing before him was the girl, and at her feet lay the writhing body of the beast that had tried to kill him merely moments ago. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a knife, and its blade was buried deep in the animal’s side. There was blood everywhere -- pooling on the ground, drenching the creature’s ebony coat. The scent of it hung heavy in the air, and he could almost taste the metallic tang of it on his tongue.

The girl wrenched the knife out and threw it on the forest floor, scarlet smearing across the tree roots and fallen leaves, but her hands didn’t tremble at all as she wiped them on her dress. The fabric was drenched in blood as well, crimson nearly black against the white cloth. She stood in the fading light, the hem of the bloodstained dress billowing across her knees, her bare feet coated with dirt and strands of pale hair falling into her face -- and in that very moment, she was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.

Ashen eyes met his polychrome ones, and her red mouth curled into a grin as she said, “We meet again, little prince.”

* * *

Back at the tower, the girl pulled together a meager dinner of leftover muffins and chamomile tea -- both of which the boy gratefully accepted -- before disappearing into a room and returning with a new dress, the exact replica of the one she had been donning before, only clean and devoid of blood. She settled down comfortably on the floor beside the window, a few feet away from where the boy sat cross-legged beside the fireplace. A yawn stretched her mouth before she rested her head against the windowsill, eyes peacefully shut. In the moonlight, strands of her fair hair gleamed pure white.

“Thank you,” the boy said suddenly after a minute of silence. “Thank you for. . . rescuing me. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you didn’t show up.”

For a moment, the girl didn’t respond, and he wondered if she’d dozed off -- but then she opened her eyes and smiled wearily. “It was brave of you to continue looking for the witch.” No, it wasn’t; it was stupid.

The boy took his dagger out of his sheath and carefully, with the edge of his shirt, began to wipe at the dirt on the blade.

“You own a very pretty weapon,” the girl remarked. He shrugged indifferently, even though he took great pride in the rubies and ambers that garnished the handle. “My brother had the same one,” he said, and immediately regretted it, hoping she hadn’t detected the bleakness in his tone.

She did. “What happened to him?” the girl queried, pale lashes fluttering as her eyes slid shut once again.

And so he told her. He told her how a witch had been slaughtering his kingdom’s men for nearly five years now. He told her that it was why his brother had valiantly advanced into the forest alone to murder the witch, but never returned. He told her how his parents had then sent him into the woods to ensure that his brother had not died in vain.

He told her everything.

When he was done, the girl said nothing. There was a lump in the boy’s throat, and he closed his eyes so that the tears stinging the backs of his eyes wouldn’t slip out. A full minute passed; then five, then ten. Finally, the boy opened his eyes and spoke again.

“Do you know her?” he asked, his voice aquiver. “The witch?”

She said nothing, and the boy sighed before leaning back, eyes falling shut once again.

Long after the boy had slipped into a deep slumber, the girl spoke again.“I do,” she murmured in a voice barely more than a whisper, more to herself than to the prince. “I know her. I know her very, very well.”

* * *

When the boy woke up in the morning, it took him several seconds to recall the events that had occurred the day before. He’d somehow ended up sprawled across on the floor, and his bones ached as he pushed himself onto his feet. Through the window, he could see that it was barely dawn; the sky was a soft hue of dark blue, and there was light filtering in between the clouds, but no sign of the sun. The girl was still unconscious beneath the window, her limbs tucked in the same position that they had been in last night.

Hunger gnawed at the boy’s stomach. One of the doors probably led to where the girl kept food -- the night before, he’d witnessed her open one and return with a muffin. Careful not to stir her, he tread softly towards the door that was closest to him and opened it. There were no windows in the room. He could only make out several shadowy shapes on the ground that he couldn’t identify at first. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, however, his heart leapt into his throat.

Human skeletons littered the floor.

There was no way to tell how long they’d been there, because the flesh had been picked clean. They’d all been haphazardly piled on top of each other; rib cages disordered, skulls stacked against each other, bones of all different shapes and sizes heaped together. In the corner of his eye, something glimmered. A dagger, adorned with rubies and ambers.

The boy realized with horror that it was his brother’s.

He was shutting the door behind him and backing away from the room before he could even think. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was on the verge of vomiting.

He needed to get out of there.

It didn’t matter that his parents expected him to end the witch’s life on his own -- no, it would take much more than only a single person. If he went quickly, it would take only over a minute to climb down the tower. If he sprinted, it would take fifteen minutes to return to the kingdom. He could make it. Inhaling a deep breath that shuddered as it entered his lungs, he schooled his expression into one devoid of panic and walked back to where the girl was.

She was ensconced in one of the chairs at the table, cradling a steaming cup of tea between her palms. “Good morning, little prince,” she chirped, the smile upturning her features making it hard to believe what he had just seen.

“Good morning,” he replied, and the pleasant expression that he forced onto his face felt more like a grimace. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Not quite,” she replied, still smiling.

“Can you go make it?” The words came out too soon, too rushed, but he was too frightened to care. She raised her brows, but nodded and walked towards the scullery.

And right when she turned her back on him, he climbed over the edge of the window.

* * *

It had taken him about two and a half minutes for him to go down the tower and touch the ground, but when he looked up, there was no sign of the girl. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go back, little prince.”

The boy swivelled and saw her behind him.

Pressing himself against the tower, the boy emitted a noise that sounded like please. The girl’s long, pale hair hung in her face, but through the silvery-blonde strands, he could see the kind smile that her crimson lips had curved into. Sympathy glistened in her gray eyes. In the midst of his fear, hope flickered, like a beacon in the dark, when he saw her expression. Perhaps she wasn’t going to kill him. Perhaps she wasn’t the witch --

In one fluid moment, she pulled out a knife and plunged it deep through his heart, pinning him to the tower and splattering her hands and dress with blood.

“I am terribly sorry,” the girl said, and the smile was gone from her cheeks, the pity drained from her eyes -- her face was entirely vacant of emotion. “You’ve been deceived this entire time.”

The boy tasted blood in his mouth. A thin stream of it trickled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He could see the handle of the knife protruding from his chest, but felt nothing but numbness seizing his body. He watched with mute horror as the girl reached towards him and traced a cold finger down his cheek, no doubt leaving a streak of his own blood.

“The witch you’ve been searching for. . .” she began, blinking as she lifted her gaze towards the sky, the rising sun reflected in her eyes, “It’s me.”

“Why?” the boy choked out, blood spraying from his lips. “Why have you done all this?”

“Your kingdom has been trying to kill me for a long time now,” she explained sadly. “Those like me -- witches, you called them -- were never meant to mingle with humans. Your people see me as a threat. I’ve had no choice but to defend myself.” She lowered her eyes to meet his. “The men who had visited my tower in the past, I was able to… eliminate within fifteen minutes. But you… the time I spent eating and talking with you has made me happier than I’ve been in years. I’ve enjoyed your company, my little prince.”

As the boy leaned against the knife, dying, he stared at her, the girl who laughed when she ate blueberry muffins but hid piles of skeletons only a room away from the kitchen. He stared at her and couldn’t help but think of what had happened merely half a day ago, when the girl murdered the beast that wanted to murder him. If he pretended, he could almost believe that the same event was recurring -- dirt speckling her naked feet, locks of colorless hair falling into her eyes, sanguine painting the white canvas of her dress. Only this time, she was not saving his life. She was ending it.

His vision grew blurry with tears, and he shut his eyes for the last time.

* * *

When the boy was dead, the witch swiftly tugged her knife from where she’d buried it through his chest and into the tower. She watched his body fold and collapse onto the earth, and she left him there, with his scarlet cheek pressed against the dirt and his blood seeping into the ground.

The wetness on her knife was partially dry by the time she made it back into her tower. She rinsed it in the sink, and then her hands, and then scrubbed the rest of the sink because the dirty water had tinged it red. She ignited the fireplace before tugging on a new dress and tossing the stained one into the flames. She fixed herself a blueberry muffin and settled down in a chair at the table.

It wasn’t until then that she finally allowed herself to cry.