Loneliness...

The tower feels so quiet today, and not in a peaceful way. Father had to leave again this morning, something about checking in on the townsfolk to monitor the sickness he’s been treating. I understand, of course—I always do. He’s a healer, and people need him. But understanding doesn’t make the silence any less heavy, or the loneliness any less sharp.

Blizzard has been trying her best to cheer me up, trotting around with that mischievous sparkle in her icy eyes. She even brought me one of her favorite sticks (well, it’s more like a small log, honestly). I tried to play with her for a while, tossing it across the room and watching her leap after it with uncontainable energy, but even her antics couldn’t shake this restless feeling.

I keep thinking about yesterday, about seeing Anna, Thomas, and Mara. I can still hear Anna’s laugh, bright and bubbly like a stream rushing over rocks. I can picture Thomas’s grin as he showed me his latest masterpiece, and Mara’s quiet, reassuring presence that always makes me feel grounded. Being with them felt so natural, so full of life. And now, here I am, back in the stillness of the tower, and it feels like a world away from the warmth of their company.

I wish Father would let me visit them on days like this. It doesn’t seem fair, really. He travels to the towns all the time—why can’t I? I could make the journey myself; I know I could. It’s not like I don’t know the way, and Blizzard would come with me, keeping me safe the whole time. But every time I bring it up, Father just says it’s too dangerous. Dangerous how? I never get a straight answer.

Maybe it’s because of the tower, because of its magic, or because of the people who’ve tried to break in before. But it’s been so long since anyone’s dared to approach us like that, hasn’t it? Surely, if Father can come and go as he pleases, I should be able to, too.

It’s not just about wanting to see my friends, though that’s a big part of it. It’s about wanting to feel connected to the world outside, to step beyond these walls and be part of something bigger. The townsfolk know Father; they look up to him. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if they knew me, too. Would I fit into their bustling lives, or would I always be the odd girl from the tower, the one with the magical fox and the overly protective father?

I sigh, running my fingers over the grain of the table as I sit in the kitchen. Blizzard curls up at my feet, her soft fur brushing against my ankles. The tower creaks faintly, as if it’s listening to my thoughts. I wish it could answer my questions, tell me why Father is so adamant about keeping me hidden away.

Maybe one day, I’ll find out. But for now, I’m stuck here, waiting for him to come back and fill the quiet with his familiar footsteps, his thoughtful words, and the stories he always brings home. Until then, I guess it’s just me, Blizzard, and the tower.

And if I’m being honest, it doesn’t feel like enough. Not today.

 

I tried to keep busy after writing all that down. Really, I did. But it didn’t last long. The tower feels too big today, every room echoing with that hollow kind of silence that gets under your skin. I stayed in the kitchen for a while, staring at the pile of dishes from breakfast. I thought about washing them, but what’s the point? It’s not like anyone cares if I do it now or later.

Blizzard noticed, of course. She always does. She padded over, her icy blue eyes watching me with that mix of concern and curiosity she gets when she knows something’s wrong but doesn’t know how to fix it. She nudged my hand with her cold nose, and I gave her a half-hearted scratch behind the ears. “I’m okay, Blizzard,” I told her, but we both knew it wasn’t true.

Eventually, I gave up pretending and dragged myself back to my room. The bed was still unmade, the blankets tangled from last night. I climbed in anyway, pulling them over my head as if they could block out the weight pressing down on me. Blizzard followed me, of course. She’s relentless like that.

I must’ve dozed off for a bit because the next thing I knew, Blizzard was back, holding a small loaf of bread in her mouth. Where she managed to get it, I have no idea—probably the kitchen. She dropped it onto the blanket, her tail wagging slightly as if to say, Here. You need this.

I sat up, my stomach rumbling in agreement, and tore off a piece. It was plain, but warm, and somehow that warmth felt comforting. Blizzard curled up at the foot of the bed, watching me eat like she was making sure I finished. “You’re too good for me, you know that?” I mumbled. She huffed softly, her ears twitching.

When the bread was gone, I leaned back against the headboard. I glanced at the stack of books on my bedside table, the titles blurring together as I stared at them. I could read, I guess. Or maybe I’ll just lie back down and wait for the day to end. Does it even matter?

The tower creaked faintly, its way of reminding me it’s still here. I should find some comfort in that, I suppose. But all I can think about is how small I feel in this big, magical place, and how much smaller I feel without Father here to fill it with life.

Blizzard stretches out, resting her head on my legs. Her presence is grounding, even if it can’t chase away the fog in my head. For now, it’s just me and her and the stillness. Maybe I’ll read later. Or maybe I’ll just close my eyes again. Either way, it’s enough for today. It has to be.