She looked out the window of the high tower where she was set as a prisoner. What her offense was, she could no longer recall. That was how long she was high up there.
The moon was bright and full, lonely if not for the stars dotting the inky blackness of the night sky.
She looked down, far below and saw the scene that greeted her every time, without fail: Trees (both tall and short, fat and thin), a lone winding path strewn with rocks and leaves and dirt.
Then she saw him far ahead, his uncanny paleness scaring her. He had been visiting her regularly and was nothing but gentle and kind. But his gallantry and pleasantness made it hard for her to trust him, what with his now hollow eyes and blood red lips.
She should’ve escaped weeks ago, when he started to change. Each time she tried, she awoke to night time. Now she was certain: He had been slipping something in her drink.
The sound of his whistling drew nearer each second. Even his lazy gait wasn’t all that much human anymore.
She swallowed back her fears and tugged at the thick rope of golden blond hair. Her rope was ready and so was she. It was now or never.
With a quick mind and an even quicker pair of dainty feet, she started to climb down the tower. The wind ruffled her now short, short hair. Were it some other place, some other time, she would’ve sobbed at the shortness of it. But it’s all right now. She needed it to escape. She needed her long, long golden blond hair to survive.
Not too far from the tower, the whistle became closer and closer.
She dared not stop climbing down the tower on her own.
≈ Note: This piece of fiction was an entry from one of the flash fiction contests from years ago. And you probably guessed right (if you ever did guess): This is my own spin of the fairytale of “Rapunzel.”