I swear, this tower has one job: be a house. You know, protect its inhabitants, provide a cozy place to live, maybe store some magical odds and ends. But no, it can’t stick to that. It’s always pulling stunts, and this time? It stole my boots. Again.
And I swear, it just knows I told you about the last time it did this, and decided to do it again today! It’s like it sat there, sulking, and thought, Oh, she told people about me? I’ll show her.
So, there I was, getting ready to head downstairs and help Father with some bubbling cauldron of doom. I grabbed one boot—easy. I reached for the other… gone. Just gone. Not under the bed. Not behind the wardrobe. Not anywhere.
“Blizzard,” I said, narrowing my eyes at my fox. “Did you do this?”
She didn’t even open her eyes, just flicked her tail like, Don’t drag me into your drama, human. Great. That meant it was the tower.
Again.
I sighed, rolled up my sleeves, and prepared for the hunt. I checked every obvious spot: the laundry chest, the desk drawer (you never know), even the weird hollow under the stairs. Nothing. Finally, I noticed the mirror on my wall wasn’t reflecting my room anymore. Instead, it showed a broom closet.
Yep. A broom closet. And smack in the middle, perched on a shelf like it belonged there, was my missing boot.
“Really, tower?” I groaned. “This again?”
Blizzard barked, which I’m pretty sure was her way of laughing at me. I glared at her and leaned into the mirror, hoping to grab the boot before the tower could pull another trick. But no. Of course not. As soon as my fingers brushed the leather, the closet moved.
That’s right. The entire room just slid away like it was on wheels. My boot vanished into the depths of the tower, leaving me with one cold, bare foot and a whole lot of rage.
“Is this funny to you?!” I yelled at the ceiling. “Do you enjoy this?”
The ceiling, as usual, didn’t respond. Blizzard, on the other hand, barked again. Traitor.
After fifteen minutes of crawling through mirrors, opening random doors, and yelling at the walls, I finally tracked down the broom closet. It was three floors up and halfway across the tower by then, because of course it was. I grabbed my boot like it was a kidnapped loved one and shoved it onto my foot before the tower could change its mind.
When I made it downstairs, Father didn’t even blink. “You’re late,” he said, stirring something green and ominous.
“Yeah,” I shot back. “The tower stole my boots again. You could’ve warned me it was in one of its moods.”
Father just nodded like this was perfectly normal. “It’s been doing that more often lately. Did you ask it nicely?”
Ask it nicely?! That’s what he said last time, too! What does that even mean? Say please and hope it doesn’t hide my socks next?
So yeah, if anyone ever tells you magical towers are fun, let me save you the trouble—they’re not. I’m keeping a tally now. Three stolen boots, two misplaced pillows, one time it trapped me in the pantry for an hour.
And that’s just this month. I can’t wait to see what it does tomorrow. (Please don’t let it be the boots again.)
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