A Starless Earth

Get To the Good Parts Already

 Strands of blonde hair are released from their position on Claire's scalp and float aimlessly around the room. To any onlooker, this scene could only be found in a madhouse. A thin girl cowered in a corner, tearing her hair out, tears streaming into her clenched mouth. But ever since Foscor's mask shattered, constant fear and despair moved into the darkest corners of her heart.

It had become sickeningly aware to young Claire that any thought of escaping her brick prison was going to take a truly profound scheme that she wasn't of age to even comprehend yet. Nevertheless, on her good days she would sketch ideas into the blank pages of the journals while the dragon was out getting food.

Her bad days, however, were plagued with a feeling so hollow she felt as though her sadness had decided her heart was an afternoon snack.

A few more weeks of endless emotional torture drudged on until one day things took a turn.

"Hello once again," Foscor said monotonously, poking his nose once again through the window.

He scanned the room, but could not find his prisoner.

"H—"

Foscor's snide remark was cut short by the sudden appearance from Claire dropping from the arch of the window.

"What the hell are yo—"

"No need to worry, I'm going to take good care of you," Claire boasted.

Bed sheet rope in hand, she began to strangle the large beast. This feat was not without struggle as Foscor began to thrash about, challenging the young girls might. Though frail in appearance, rats and other protein-filled substances had become the meal of choice for Claire. Adrenaline surged through her bones, filling her with a superhero complex that seemed unmatched by the foreboding dragon.

After a few more minutes of thrashing, Foscor lowered his head in surrender. Not wanting to give up her position, Claire paused.

"Are you done?"

He nodded in agreement.

"Good."

Claire hopped off and stared at the solemn beast. Feeling accomplished, she placed her small foot on top of his nostrils.

She eventually skipped back to her naked bed and collapsed as the surge of energy escaped from the holes in her heart.

"I'm really sad Foscor," Claire mumbled.

"As many are, young one. You are not the only one to ever be in this tower, and you won't be the last."

"Did anyone ever get better?"

"Afraid not. Many turned to the mushrooms shady fairies brought them or just simply withered with the books."

"Did any of them ever even try to get better?"

"Surely they did. They listened to the advice the birds gave them, but simply pretending to be happy isn't enough for some."

The two sat in silence for a significant amount of time until Claire's voice pierced through the quiet.

"Hey Foscor?"

"Yes?" Foscor responded, lifting an eyebrow.

"Why are you so mean?"

"That's not a simple question, young one. I cannot answer it with the limited time we have."

"We have all of the time in the world."

"To you, maybe, but I have another prisoner to prepare for."

Claire's breath caught in her throat.

"But I'm still here."

"So it seems, but based on my calculations you'll execute your plan soon enough."

"P-Plan? I don't have a plan."

"Oh yes, just like I don't have scales or the ability to breathe fire." Foscor said, rolling his eyes.

"It's never going to work, even if I do try."

"Many have gotten very close to leaving this tower. Why don't you just try?"

"You don't even know what my plan is."

"I don't need to. I know your strength, just do it. Jump from the tower, break down the foundation, do what pleases you. I've done my job, it's your turn to take control."

"I-I guess ..."

That night Claire stared at her plans by the moonlight, her sketches showing her quick decent to the ground below. From her memories, there was a tall patch of grass directly from her window that should be able to cushion her fall. At least, so she thought.