thirteen

IVY was thirteen today, and she couldn't remember ever being outside the tower.

She knew she hadn't always lived in the tower, Mother told her so. Mother told Ivy that when she was very little she lived in a castle and was called Princess, that she wore pretty dresses with gems on them, and that she had a nurse and a nanny and a maidservant and there was a little girl who played with her sometimes. Mother told Ivy that she was able to run around outside and play and eat fine food. She remembered none of it, but she believed Mother.

Ivy was thirteen today.

She sat at her window, high in the tower, her chin propped on her hand. Her room was on the very top floor; Mother said that when Ivy was little, she wanted to be up high and insisted that the highest room be hers. Ivy thought that was true, too. She liked it now, at least, liked being able to see miles and miles through the trees, liked being higher than everyone else.

Not that there was anyone down there to be above. No one ever came this far into the woods—not that Ivy had any idea how far into the woods the tower was. Only Mother's knowledge of the world outside the tower, her memories, taught Ivy anything about it. She had no clue how close anyone lived; just that it was far enough that no one knew about the tower, and no one could stumble upon it.

That was the way Mother liked it. She told Ivy that she built the tower far, far away from other people to protect Ivy. Mother would never say what Ivy needed protecting from, though, so she was left to come up with her own ideas. Right now, her favorite was that Mother was really a witch who kept Ivy locked up as retribution against her parents, who would kill Mother to get Ivy back.

Ivy loved Mother, though, so she hoped that story wasn't true.

—

IVY was thirteen today.

Aima couldn't believe it. To her mind, it was just yesterday that she was holding her baby girl in her arms, marvelling at her tiny hands and wide brown eyes. And now here she was, thirteen years old and already so close to being grown-up. It broke Aima's heart a little bit to look at her sometimes.

She looked so much like her father.

Aima stood in the doorway, unwilling to disturb Ivy's peace as she sat in the window, staring out at the forest. Ivy liked to sit there, her gaze trained on the world beyond. On occasion, Aima regretted not letting Ivy outside. If she was anything like her father, Ivy would love the outdoors, would love exploring the forest and befriending animals with her small smile and soft eyes.

She blinked, casting such thoughts from her mind. Today was her daughter's birthday, and Aima vowed to do her best to make Ivy happy.

Her daughter was Aima's life. She would give—had given—everything up for her.

—

516 words.

Welcome to Tumbling Down! I really look forward to where this story is going, but I wanted to introduce our two main characters, Aima and Ivy, very quickly. Let me know what you think, and be sure to check out the fractured-fairytales account!