I must confess, I miss my tower, although I was only there
because I had not the power to escape unassisted. Still,
you get used to these things after a while. I'm no recluse,
but when I'm alone I smile to myself, quite unfazed, and
remember the days which I spent not feeling lonely,
just solitary, and homely. The food was the only thing
I could wish to be better, but that was mere detail when
all I did all day was to make myself pretty. I put on makeup
for the day that a prince would come and take pity
on the beautiful maiden trapped up in the sky, and
with a wink of a deep ice blue eye, he'd come back with
a plan and release me from torments I didn't really mind,
then we'd ride off on horseback, him in front, me behind.

The reality was quite different. I spied from my window one
night, a knight in shining armour, whose fire lit him
up as a chivalrous charmer. His long flowing blonde locks
glistened in the wind, and I felt myself unable to look away,
so I sat on the windowsill and sighed loud enough to get
his attention. This didn't work the first time, and I confess,
I was annoyed, but after a few coughing noises he could
not avoid, he enquired, "Good lady, are you quite alright?"
I replied "I'm embroiled with terrible strife - I'm imprisoned
in this tower for the rest of my life." He looked genuinely
startled, and replied "Lady, whatever for?" and I
shouted back "My stepmother warned me of the evils of
amour, so for my safety I'm locked up here forevermore."
One eyebrow raised - this ability I praise - he glanced up
and said "That's terrible, my pretty." I nodded and assumed
he'd come back with an idea, but prithee, he said "We'll
have you out of there in a jiffy." And then he rode away
and returned with some mates, and said "Alright lads,
let's lay siege to these bleedin' gates!"

I was startled, that in front of a lady, this man should use
language stronger than "Good gravy!" but things were getting
so exciting, I thought "I'll tell him later, he's sure to obey me."
Within five minutes someone kicked down my door (which had
my mirror strapped on - it broke on the floor) and I turned, with
a turn I had practiced for weeks. I stared at my saviour and
hardly dared speak. Our eyes locked in what could only be
true love, until closer inspection revealed his hair to be dirty,
and his age well above thirty. It's hard to notice these things
from the top of a tower, you see, but much easier to realise
at less than ten feet. He said "Lady, you are in rather good
luck that I passed not by day but by cover of dark. Otherwise
the light I might not have seen, and quite a lot of things may
never have been. Tell me, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
I thought this rather an odd sort of greeting, so I rushed right
through the preliminary stages and told him my name even though he
was aged. His beard was matted, and when he talked, his eyes
appeared to pop out on stalks. For all his fancy words I knew at
what he was getting. He revealed it with, "Madam, you seem to be
forgetting a reward for my priceless endeavours. As such, I think
you owe me a favour."

Now, I never wanted to be one who appears ungrateful, but I admit
what I did next was quite distasteful. I said "Forgotten? How can
such an idea enter your head? By morrow next I wish to be wed." This
is where the tale gets a little more sour, and one of the reasons I
miss my dear tower. I knew all he wanted to do was get me in bed,
but I forced myself not to think this while down the aisle I lead,
hand in hand with a man I only just met. It is a deed which I deeply
regret, but I let him deflower me the following night. It was his delight
but it just made me sick, and I'm just thankful it was over so quick.
I thought twas right that it was done by a gentleman rather than some
common peasant - although I could think of nothing more unpleasant than
him pounding away, I saw no ladylike reason to keep him at bay.


As I said before, I don't wish to express ingratitude, but since I first met
him he's doubled in latitude, and I'm getting sick of his chauvinist attitude.
How could I be such a fool as to fall for a man of whom I knew nothing at all?
Now I do, and he has no interests I like, he lazes all day and goes to the
tavern at night - while I scrub the dishes and fulfill his wishes, and cook
him regular meals on the table, I sweep out the floors and muck out
the stable. He'll swear blind that his love is much deeper, but I tell you,
I'm his servant, just consid'rably cheaper. The moral of my story would seem
rather blatant, but no matter how I tell it it there's always a vagrant
who thinks she knows better than hard solid facts - my beautiful dress
has now been torn to rags, my knees are grazed from the floors I have
waxed - and will seek to copy my foolish act. Please, don't just fall for
any man off the street, and don't skip through the meet and greet - take things
slow, and see which way the wind blows - if his intentions aren't noble,
it soon becomes knowable. I'm not saying there's absolutely no chance,
but you need to be wary of kiss-and-tell romance and those who merely
wish to get in your pants. At least when I was a damsel in distress, I had
my spectacular white flowing dress. Now I have to settle for much, much
less and that's not helped by my lover's rough-handed caress. Sometimes
I look out of my window and sigh, and imagine myself once again up
in the sky, protected from the evils of terrible amour. But here I'm no princess,
just a housewife and whore, and bound by things stronger than any locked door.