For thirty years, Princess Elysia sat in her tower, gazing out the lone window that framed the entire world. The kingdom stretched far beyond the horizon, a place she had only seen in storybooks and through the fragmented tales whispered by the birds that perched on her windowsill. They told her of kingdoms rising and falling, of people who fought for their lives and freedom. She envied them, but she also listened. Slowly, she pieced together a world that had forgotten her.

She hadn’t always been confined. She had been a child once, a princess with a future. But that had ended the day her mothers trembling hands had placed her in the tower. “It’s for your safety,” her mother had whispered, tears staining her cheeks. “The king… the court… they fear what you might become.”

Elysia hadn’t understood then. She was only eight. But years of isolation sharpened her mind, and the truth became clear: she wasn’t locked away for her safety. She was locked away because of her power—a spark of magic that ran through her bloodline, one the court feared might grow too strong. Her childhood dreams of rescue had withered, replaced by a bitter understanding that no one was coming for her.

One evening, as she gazed outside the window, the weight of it all became too much. The endless waiting, the stolen years, the emptiness—it had to end. Her gaze fell to her hands, roughened from years of grasping stone, from experimenting with spells from her mother’s old book she had snuck with her. She clenched them into fists.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the tower walls in hues of orange and pink, Elysia sat on the cold stone floor, her back against the heavy oak door. Her fingers traced the grooves in the stone as she stared at the window, her mind a storm of memories and thoughts.

For decades, she had dreamed of a knight in shining armor bursting through that very door, his sword gleaming, his hand outstretched to take her to freedom. But those dreams had faded into nothingness, replaced by the bitter sting of reality. No one was coming. No one had ever even tried.

Her hands clenched into fists against the stone. The quiet fury that had smoldered within her for years flared to life. “I’m no damsel,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. She pushed herself to her feet, the words reverberating in her chest. The weight of them was grounding, empowering. As the last light of the sun disappeared, leaving the room bathed in shadow, she turned her gaze to the door.

No one was coming to save her. But she could save herself.

The lock on her chamber door was old and rusted. Elysia crouched before it, holding a stolen hairpin between her fingers. She had spent years studying this lock, it’s mechanisms as familiar to her as the lines of her palm. This was her chance.

The hairpin wobbled in her hands as she slid it into the keyhole. She took a steady breath, her heart pounding in her ears. Each twist, each scrap of metal against metal, sent a jolt through her body. Her mind raced with doubts—what if it didn’t work? What if the guards caught her? What if this was all for nothing?

But then she remembered the birds’ tales of a world outside these walls, a world she had never seen but longed for with every fiber of her being. She couldn’t stop now.

The final tumbler clicked into place. The lock gave a small, reluctant snap, and Elysia froze. She stared at the door for a moment, disbelief washing over her. Slowly, she pushed it open.

The hinges creaked loudly, and her heart leapt into her throat. She held her breath, listening intently. The muffled voices of the guards down the corridor didn’t change, their low, bored chatter continuing uninterrupted. She exhaled slowly and slipped into the hallway.

The air in the corridor was heavy and damp, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shadows against stone walls. She moved quietly, her bare feet making almost no sound on the cold floor. Each step brought her closer to freedom, but the tension coiled tighter in her chest.

As she approached the spiral staircase, she paused. The guards were just around the corner. Their voices drifted toward her, fragments of idle conversation mixing with the clink of their armor. Elysia pressed herself against the wall, her fingers brushing against the dagger she had taken from her father’s old study years ago.

She waited, her breathing shallow, until their voices grew quieter. Timing her movements carefully, she slipped past the staircase and into the shadows. Her heart pounded, every instinct screaming at her to run, but she forced herself to stay calm.

The staircase spiraled down into darkness, the air growing colder with each step. The faint smell of earth and iron filled her nose as she reached the bottom. There, looming before her, was the gate.

The iron gate was massive, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed with faint blue light. Elysia stopped, staring at it in both awe and frustration. This was the final barrier, the last obstacle between her and freedom.

She crouched low, her hands trembling as she touched the embroidered vines on her gown. Her mother’s magic had been stitched into the fabric, woven into symbols she had spent years deciphering. Slowly, she traced the sigils in the air, her fingers glowing faintly as she channeled her magic.

The runes on the gate flared brighter, resisting her spell with a surge of heat and light. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her chest ached from the effort, but she didn’t stop. She poured everything she had into the spell, her determination burning brighter than the magic itself.

Finally, the runes shattered, their fragments scattering like shards of glass. The gate groaned, its hinges straining as it swung open. Elysia stumbled forward, the cool night air rushing over her like a wave.

For the first time in thirty years, she stood beneath the open sky.

She didn’t stop to savor her freedom. Not yet. Instead, she turned back to the tower, its dark silhouette stark against the moonlit sky. This wasn’t just about escaping. The people who had imprisoned her—who had stolen decades of her life—needed to answer for what they had done.

Her feet carried her back to the castle, her dagger clutched tightly in her hand. The halls were eerily silent as she made her way to the king and queen’s chambers.

When she pushed the door open, they were there, asleep in their bed. She stepped closer, her voice steady as she spoke. “Did you think I would stay silent forever?”

The king stirred, his eyes widening in shock. “Elysia?”

“I’m no longer your prisoner,” she said, her voice firm. “You will answer for what you’ve done—to me and to this kingdom.”

She didn’t strike. Not yet. But she left them with a promise of reckoning.

As dawn broke, Elysia rode into the horizon. She wasn’t just free—she was determined. The world had forgotten her, but it would soon remember.

She would make sure of it.