there’s a small town, ashville, somewhere in the mid-west — and there are rumors about that town, from the small towns around. they say evil grows there. they say the gods reside there. everyone has a god, someone they worship more than others, but can you imagine consorting with them?
there are homeless kids there, and there’s a medical clinic there, and there’s the house of a megacongomorate corporation’s owner. there are woods that never go dim.
ashville is haunted, they say, by ghosts with cut wrists. ashville is haunted, they say, with spirits growing mushrooms.
to most of the people who live there, it’s just home.
stories about children in towers are important to me but i am sad that they rarely ever seem to address how life was in the tower.
if the kid was alone then it must have been the dragon fed them with fruits picked clumsily with too-big claws or meat picked off sacrificed cattle and gently fire-breathed on.
if the kid was alone with the dragon then did they learn to speak at all. did they speak dragon. did they look at their reflection sometimes and wonder at the smoothness of their skin, the lack of scales, the weakness of arms seen beside wings. did they blink and hope their pupil would turn out slitted instead of round, reptilian instead of mammal.
if the kid knew what family is. if they called the dragon their brother. if when the knights came they clawed at their faces and roared and spit at them hoping for fire.