"That's it, right?" I whisper to Fahj-Dsal. I don't really know why I whispered. It just seems like a whispering kind of place; peaceful and serene and shuttled away from the hustle and bustle that tends to follow people around. 

The little dragon looks at me, perfectly conveying the general sentiment of, well, duh! 

Abandoning me at the edge of the clearing, she scampers across the lush green grass. She extends her copper wings and glides easily to the top of the tower, which I'd estimate is about thirty feet tall. Two graceful arms extend from what I assume is a window, and Fahj-Dsal nestles herself easily into her grip. I smile a bit. 

For a couple minutes, long enough for me to get antsy, there's silence. Then I hear a voice call out, "if you rescue me you don't get to marry me!" 

I hesitate. This was definitely not the first interaction I was expecting. I don't blame her, though. I know princes. Hell, I know men. Especially men who make a living out of rescuing women. 

"I don't want to marry you!" I yell back. Then, on second thought, "NO OFFENCE!" 

I'm a dumbass. 

There's no response. Hesitantly, I step closer to the tower, until I'm standing uncomfortably at its base. I see a head poke out the window, hair dangling wildly. I can't make out her hair colour—or her features, for that matter. The sun's shining directly behind her, and as a result I'm just kind of squinting up at her. 

I remember the stories I used to read as a kid. There would be a dashing prince and a lonely princess and the prince would be handsome and the princess beautiful and there would be true love and romance. 

Sun-in-my-eyes and preemptive marriage proposal rejections were certainly never part of the books. 

"Who're you?" She asks. 

"Prince Arion!" I shout, voice cracking. 

There's a loaded pause. It seems like she's never had a would-be rescuer stick around after the whole "I won't marry you even if you rescue me" thing. Which is really sad. 

"Do you want me to rescue you?" I try. 

"There's rope hidden in the bushes a couple feet to your left. Enchanted, so all you have to do is throw it up." 

Her sudden change in demeaned startles me a bit. I nod—though once I do I realize she probably can't see it—and dig around a raspberry bush. The thorns catch my clothes but avoid nicking my skin. I pull out a long coil of thick silvery rope. Turning back to the tower, I hold it up. 

"What now?" I call up. 

"Toss it!" She replies, and there's another quality to her voice. Hunger, maybe, for her freedom. Or urgency. 

A bit of fear in the mix, perhaps. 

Cautiously, I study the rope. It looks like smooth whitish-silver metal, braided somehow and impossibly flexible. And strangely it feels almost... electric? Alive? Like it's itching with energy, dying to move. 

I've never been much into sports. I grab one end, the rest pooling on the green grass, and raise my arm. I pause like that for a second, unsure of how this is technically going to work, before I complete the arc. 

The metallic rope soars up smoothly, cutting through the air like a hot knife through a soft pat of butter, because gravity is utterly irrelevant. I flick my wrist as the last of the rope leaves the ground. A hand extends from the window again and catches one end. I can sense her joy from down here. My heart warms despite everything. 

I know that the rope's enchanted, but it's still a little hard to process as the rope's seemingly flawless braid unwinds, stretches out, and forms a gleaming silver ladder that looks like it's never been anything but a ladder. 

Fahj-Dsal flies out of the window and lands on my shoulders. Her soft rumble/purr soothes me a bit. 

First a leg extends backwards, alighting on the first rung. The rung doesn't bend. It's solid metal now. Then cloth flutters. I guess Cheryl's in a dress. Not a stuffy ballgown, though; this dress is too light and wispy. More of a practical garment than a fashionable one. 

She descends the ladder slowly. Not like she doesn't know how, but like she's savouring the experience. As she gets closer to the ground and her risk of falling to her death and/or serious injury lessens, I start to absorb little details about her. 

Cheryl hops off the ladder and lands in front of me. Flicking her wrist, she turns the ladder into a necklace, which she stuffs in her pocket. She looks at me and smiles a bit awkwardly, and I finally take a good look at her. 

She's tall—a good five or six inches taller than me. A purple bag is slung over one bare shoulder. Her black hair is up in a lopsided bun held in place by what looks like a birch branch. Her skin is pale—understandable since the only sunlight she'd get is through that window. Her eyes are hazel but seem to contain every colour imaginable. Or maybe that's just me. She's undeniably beautiful, but the first thing I notice is her dress. 

Forget hat I said about her dress being more practical than fashionable. It's both. 

The actual dress is simple enough—a plain cotton slip. But the sleeveless top is dyed a pale peach and a white sash hangs around the waist, providing a stunning backdrop for the skirt. 

It's streaked with colour—pink,  purple, turquoise, blue, orange—like some crazy painter went to work. The strokes look like they've been done with the kind of brush one uses for vast amounts of space, but it looks coordinated and harmonic instead of chaotic. Or maybe there's just the right amount of chaos to work, which is what makes it so beautiful. 

Either way, it's stunning. 

She's stunning. 

Fortunately, she's too busy staring at her bare feet against the grass to notice me staring. 

Shit. Bare feet. That's going to be a problem. 

"Um, hi," I say, because I'm totally suave that way. 

She looks up and gives me a grateful, overjoyed smile. "Hi. Sorry. This is..."

God, she has the most beautiful smile ever. I don't think I've ever seen anyone this happy, and she just exudes this pure joy that seems almost contagious. 

"A lot," she finishes. 

I nod, since words suddenly hate me. I silently curse the alphabet and fumble for my voice.  

"Uh, should we get out of here?" 

"Yeah," she says, and the smile fades. I swear I feel a jolt of pain at the loss. "The alarm was probably triggered a couple minutes ago." 

I glance around wildly, certain an evil wizard is going to teleport himself behind me. The familiar fear settles in again. "What now? Do we run?" 

"Oh, definitely."