Once upon a time there was a princess locked in a tower.

Because that’s what happens to princesses, isn’t it? They get kidnapped, or sacrificed to dragons or sea monsters, or cursed to sleep for a hundred years by some unsuspecting fruit or piece of sewing equipment. Or they get locked in a tower.

Usually it’s the parents fault in one way or another. These monarchs go about pissing off witches and fairies and goblins and goodness knows what else. As though they expect these clearly self-governing and anti-authoritarian beings to simply respect the crowns on their heads. But it’s rarely the parents who bear the brunt of their own mistakes. It’s almost always the princesses.

In the case of Princess Mandisa, her parents were very directly to blame. They had ordered their daughter to be locked away in this particular tower the day after her twenty-first birthday. It had been constructed specifically for her, in fact.

No one ever discusses the inconveniences a princess in a tower would face with simple daily living requirements. Laundry, for example. Food. Taking a shit. Is she emptying her own chamber pot? Is she washing it? If so, with what? Where is she getting her water? Where is she getting her food? And, of course, no one ever discusses menstruation; tower or otherwise.

Princess Mandisa was lucky, really. Her parents had ordered her tower constructed with all the latest and most sought after enchantments. They had paid a powerful witch very handsomely to make certain that their daughter could live in comfort, as a princess ought. Her closet refilled itself every day, and disposed of her laundry. Her table was always laden with delicious food that never spoiled. Her bed made itself every morning, and warmed itself each night. Her chamber pot was self-cleaning.

But why was she in the tower in the first place? Was she in danger? Was she being hidden away from something terrible?

Quite the opposite. The whole point was that she was meant to be found. Because do you know what else happens to princesses who get locked in towers? They get rescued, and then married.

Mandisa was the heir to the throne of the kingdom of Djeserit. It wasn’t a large country by any means, but it was a fairly wealthy one thanks to their lucrative mining industries and hefty natural deposits of precious metals and gems.

She had always been told that they were a happy and prosperous kingdom, and that it was her responsibility to marry well and provide the country with heirs. She had been given the best education that money and status could buy, prepared from birth to be a queen, wife, and mother. She knew her parents cared for her and wanted the best for her and the realm, despite that she rarely saw them, and had worked hard to please them.

When she had turned eighteen, they had thrown her a large banquet to celebrate. She had been dragged her through seemingly endless introductions with various available noblemen like a worm on a hook in a large lake full of very big and hungry fish.

It hadn’t ended well.

At some point it had become incredibly overwhelming and Mandisa had excused herself to go out into the gardens for some fresh air. When the crown prince of a neighbouring kingdom had followed her and subsequently tried to kiss her, she had punched him in the head and almost caused an international incident.

Her parents had no choice but to send her back to her tutors for further education on conduct befitting a young woman in her position, and begun construction of the tower at once. Mandisa had swallowed her protests and done as she was told.

The plan was to have her “rescued” by some suitable young man, then live happily ever after.

She was required to sing at her window for an hour three times a day –at dawn, midday, and dusk- about love, and romance, and other such tripe. Otherwise her days were her own.

At first it hadn’t been so bad. She had missed her little sister, Urbi, but it had been nice to please herself for the first time in her life. She had spent almost a full week in her underwear, reading and eating and lolloping about on the floor of the tower in a manner she knew her mother would never have tolerated. She had dedicated an entire fortnight to composing a rude song about the prince who had tried to kiss her, accompanied by vulgar doodles in the margins that made her snigger.

As time dragged on, however, she grew increasingly bored. She tried to occupy herself as best she could, but eventually fell back on the rigorous schooling she had received. She would dance, sew, read, and even made a sock puppet to have full conversations in foreign languages with. Her name was Lady Tiddles.

Half a year passed, and Mandisa began to get angry. She hadn’t heard from anyone in the whole time she had been there. No visitors, no letters, nothing. Had they forgotten her? Or worse, had the whole thing been a sham? Was she being kept out of the way? Her disgrace so great that they had actually just locked her away and abandoned her as punishment?

One morning she woke to sing at dawn as she had been instructed, but she just glared out of the open window silently instead. The hour passed without a peep. Then midday came and she did the same. Then dusk. She uttered not one note the whole day through, then went to bed feeling worse than ever.

The next morning she rose for the day, dressed herself in loose pants and a long tunic, and packed a small satchel with food and some jewellery. She tied her bedding together into a long, makeshift rope, and tying it firmly around a wooden beam, lowered it out of the window.

Taking one last look around the tiny prison of a tower, Mandisa swallowed her nerves and climbed down the rope.