Looming in the distance, the Black Tower beckoned me forth. Without hands, it urged me onwards; without fingers, it curled back bones to pull me forward. Ever-tall, light shone only from the highest windows, four of them. I knew what waited for me above. But below, only darkness. Cold stone erupting from a wasteland of bleak obsidian shadows. Gnarled trees and a fine pines provided the flora for this pathway. My heart was heavy as I stepped forth, alone.

I knew there would be no guard on the steps, and nobody to ask who I was at the cavernous front door, either. They would be expecting me in their windowed rooms, should I make it there. The Black Tower held many secrets, but not so secretive was the rarity for anybody to ever emerge from the stone walls once entered. I had to take my chances.

There was no door to slam shut behind me as I entered the cobwebbed foyer. No candles to line the walls, no lanterns. Only darkness. The foggy mists and moonlight lit the entranceway for a bit, but I could see in the distance where the light stopped and where I would have to continue by touch alone. I shivered.

There’s not much to say of the upwards journey. It was dark, cold, and somehow haunting. I sensed portraits on the walls, but didn’t know if they were actually there. I felt thin veils of web fall over me, but wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating. At last, I reached the first set of three windows. One figure stood on those floors, guarding the top.

“You made it,” my Past said to me, robed in black and silver. It extended one thin, pale finger and pushed me out of the window. I saw its face towering above me as I fell, fell, fell down past the height of the tower through the frigid night air.