The Tower

Of course, one of the first things I decided to go and explore was the one still-standing tower. It’s nothing impressive, not too much taller than the nearby trees, with narrow archers’ windows dotting its sides. I walked up to it and noticed that its door, though detached from its hinges, had been carefully leaned upright in the frame. I picked up the heavy thing and moved it aside. A clean line was left on the ground from where leaves had been piled against the door, but there wasn’t a single one on the other side. At the time, it had been months since autumn, so I figured I needn’t worry about there being anybody inside. To the left, a set of stairs snaked up the wall, narrow windows letting in shafts of light, and in front of me, following the stairs, was another wall. Here at the ground level were a set of two separate doors—these ones still on their hinges. I opened the door on the left to see a somewhat semicircular room. An old rug, dust settled deep into its threads, covered a large portion of the floor. The right wall was covered with bookshelves empty for all but a few cobwebs and mouse droppings. The rounded wall on the left had a pair of narrow windows—their broken glass glittering on the floor—looking down upon a large desk and pair of chairs. The first one sat neatly behind the desk as though its upholstery wasn’t rotting away, and the other lay broken on the floor. Dust lay on the shelves, but I could see streaks and finger-markings between the powdery layers. I searched the room for something—anything—that could tell me who had used this place. All I could find was an empty bag, a few pieces of parchment, and a bald quill stuck to a half-open drawer with dried ink. The room next to it was much the same. I climbed the stairs, finding a few more rooms as I went from level to level until I finally made it to the top. After forcing the single swollen door open, I came to a room that was missing a good portion of its roof. A long crack split the place from floor to ceiling, the windows were destroyed, and the furniture was much the same as in the other rooms. The only major difference was the books. The shelves of this (office?) hadn’t been cleared out, but the sight still made my heart sink. Years of wind, rain, and snow had ruined them beyond all repair. A beam from the ceiling had fallen and crushed the better part of a full bookcase, its contents scattered all over the floor. The other shelves were mostly empty, too, leaving books and paper in heaps. I searched through the carnage for anything that might be readable, finally finding a box that was nearly sealed shut, but looked to be in good condition. I forced open the latch and pried the lid open. I found something inside. Meet you in the Ruins.