I remember the first night in that wretched tower as if it was yesterday. I cried myself to sleep in that cursed night. The only reason I kept going is hope. I kept waiting for my Prince Charming to come and save me. But it seems as if that egoistic jerk completely forgot about me. I was in a state of constant sadness for the days that followed. But even though he played an important role in my life, after those 30 years being locked in that damn tower I started to forget about him. That might also be because being left by myself with my thoughts as my only company is not good for ones mental health. During my time there, I have to admit that I thought of suicide quite a few times. I don’t know how I found the motivation to keep living. This whole situation feels hopeless. There goes that train of thoughts again. Wouldn’t jumping be so much easier than to continue living this hell of a life? Nobody would miss me anyways. The only reason why I don’t do it is because a person once told me to reach for the stars. Every night I look out my window and think about being free. I try to think about what the first thing I would do if I were free. The problem is, that for as long as I remember I’ve been locked in here. I only remember those words because I’ve etched them in the cold stone walls that make this place even more depressing. A tear slowly rolls down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away. Ever the polite lady. That makes me cry even more. When I remember that I ran out of the food and water that was left in the hell hole, as I’ve started to call it, yesterday, I can’t control the tears anymore and just let them flow freely. That is until I hear a voice. At first I think I imagined it. But then I hear it again; „Why are you crying little star?“ At first I’m too shocked to answer. But then I finally gather the courage to answer „I’ve been locked here so long. I’m starting to lose hope.“ My voice sounds strange and whispery. That’s what happens when you don’t use it anymore. „Little one, you can’t give up hope just yet. Your time hasn’t come yet to join all the ones who have lost theirs.“ Says that strange corporeal voice. It sounds as if its coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Anybody else would think it’s strange and scary. But when you spend thirty years in solitude nothing is strange anymore. „You don’t need anyone’s help to make it out of here.“ „What do you mean?“ I ask. Silence is my answer. I sit there and think. I keep hoping that the eerie voice will say something, but of course it doesn’t. Slowly my thoughts start taking a different direction. Maybe the decision was stupid but I’ve had enough. I go to the window. I take one last look at my personal hell. Thirty years. Thirty years of waiting, hoping and whispering to the walls. The weight of it all finally lifts as I step onto the small window ledge. But in the back of my mind there’s still a part that is questioning my decision. Maybe if I had waited one more day someone would have come to save me. The wind brushes against my skin, teasing me, showing me the freedom that was never given to me. It’s almost as if it´s telling me to leap. For a moment I hesitate. My fingers grip the rough, cold stone. My breath catches in my throat. Maybe I should wait just one more day. Maybe someone is finally coming. But no-no one is coming. After all thirty years have passed. Why would they wait that long? The truth is that no one was ever going to come. I close my eyes. I whisper only for the stars that have started to appear in the evening sky to hear: „Free at last.“ And then I jump. The air rushes past me, stealing the last warmth from my body. My heart lurches, not in fear, but in a strange, fleeting relief. The stars I was told to reach for blur into streaks of light. I almost feel as though I’m flying.

Then-I see it. The thing I’ve been waiting for all these years; a figure moving towards the tower. Someone is coming. I would feel relieved and almost happy if I weren’t currently falling to my death. Instead a wave of guilt crashes into me, sharper than the wind. The tears should be rolling down my cheeks, but the air steals them before they can fall almost as if to say; „You’re free. Don’t be sad. It’s too late to change anything now.“ My mind races with a final, desperate thought; „Maybe I will see my family again after all those years.“

And then. Nothing. Finally sweet nothingness.

Death welcomes me in its arms, like an old friend waiting to take me home.