In the last hours of twilight, I lingered by the barred window of the upper hall, letting the cold air slide across my skin. The dying light turned my hair faintly golden, but all I could see were echoes of a freedom I didn't have.
No human face ever appeared here. No smiles, no voices. Only the golems my father created—soulless servants who laid grass, watered flowers, lit torches. They never looked at me. They never cared. Each motion reminded me how alone I was, how the grand hall was just a beautiful prison.
Then I heard something different. A faint rustle, a sound like little bells. My heart jumped. It wasn't the sound of a golem.
On the windowsill, a small figure appeared—shining wings, silver light. Alive. Not a golem.
I froze. My voice came out sharper than I meant.
"Who dares enter my tower?"
The creature landed gracefully, setting down a chest traced with glowing runes.
"My name is Malatrona," she said, her voice smooth. "A midnight witch. I offer you a summoning grimoire—something your father would never allow—in exchange for a few treasures from your vault."
The word summoning made my chest tighten. To call something real, someone alive, into this place... I tried to look bored, even though my pulse was racing.
"Just another book. I'm not interested."
But then the chest shimmered, and for a moment I let myself imagine it. A companion. Someone to speak to. Someone who wasn't a golem.
"Don't be fooled by its size," Malatrona murmured. "This little book carries seals beyond your father's laws. Recite the words, and your loneliness will end forever."
I clenched my fist. I knew it was a trick. I could feel it. The grimoire summoned blindly—no control, no choice, no dismissal. What if something worse than solitude appeared?
Yet her words worked their way under my skin. A loyal guardian. A trusted companion. Not lifeless, but alive. Real.
My hand trembled when I touched the black leather cover. It felt weak, patched together, yet it pulsed faintly, as if it wanted me.
Father's voice echoed in my head: Never trust a witch. Never. But another voice pressed back—the one I never admitted aloud. What if this is my only chance?
"How much would it cost?" I asked. My voice was steady. My heart wasn't.
Her smile widened, showing sharp teeth.
"Three forgotten trinkets from your vault. A trifling price for an eternal friend."
I closed my eyes. I remembered the day I begged my father for a canary when I was small—something alive, just to chase away the emptiness. His reply had been flat: Too frivolous for our name.
That pain had never left me.
Now the book burned in my hands, runes flickering, whispering. It promised more than jewels, more than obedience, more than legacy. It promised company.
I lifted my chin, my throat tight. All the warnings screamed in my mind, but the silence of this tower screamed louder.
And in a whisper, almost too soft to hear, I gave my answer.
"I accept."
The hall itself seemed to hold its breath.