You are a keeper. A tower; ever watchful of the world below you, basking in your silent reign over the petty treaties of men. You used to be mighty but your credence thins as the forest around you thickens. Before long, you are ages forgotten. You once had many visitors; many admirers who would look upon you and stare in wonder at your architectural brilliance. Many more would use you to store their future queens, treasures, beloved dead and through it all your stones have seen the fire of scaled beasts, the knives of thieves and the confident footsteps of would-be kings. But the world has since left you behind. Ivy from an overgrown wood outstretches its greedy hands to decorate you in wilderness, and you've accepted it. You've become lonely and wild, slowly wearing down in the weather, spiteful of all who cross you. If you had been an ensnared animal, you would have hissed and bared your teeth, brandishing quick claws; my warning to draw no closer. So I don't. Instead, I recall the stories of old and I know to look upon you, still, in all your glory —to cherish you as a structure of worth, because you have done far more work than anyone knows. But I know. Beneath your poison, your walls are still too high to climb and far too strong to break down. I know better. You are still a keeper. What a magnificent one you are, too —and not just a prize to be conquered. "Yet another almost prince that dares to plunder my secrets?" I can only shake my head. Beneath my fingers you may sneer and reiterate that you are a just stronghold... But I will only agree with you. You are a tower and that is all you are, but all that I am is a weary traveler. I can do no more. A weary traveler cannot be a prince when he seeks no crown. A weary traveler cannot be a prince when he already appreciates the complexity of your concealed passages and your hidden chambers hold stories he already knows. A weary traveler cannot be a prince when he, too, is just a keeper.
-Michael
