*Rapunzel*
I plod up the tower steps. Being with Horace… being married to Horace… is like being mated to a tornado. A centrifugal force spins me around until I can’t think, and I just want to cling to him and gaze into his midnight eyes.
And then I wake up and realize that I am merely another appointment in his life. Not important enough to justify any of his time, it seems, other than at dinner. I feel a surge of anger, followed hard on by a moment of clarity: neither of us is willing to give up our time. I guard my practice hours with as much intentness as he does his working hours.
I continue up the stairs, thinking about that. The first level is completely empty, but just as Horace promised, much less dim. The tower has charming mullioned windows, with little diamond panes. I pause
