For the first time in her life, she's a heroine. The tower, the moon, the bloody roses. She's locked the doors, turned out the light. She's not home to Prince Charming tonight.
In the highest room in the tallest tower... She cranked up the tunes, played air guitar. Falling back on satin sheets, under chandeliers. Two vodkas later she's dancing on the balcony.
There's no door, because she bricked it up. A self made heroin in a crumbling castle. With lofty rafters, cawing ravens, a saxophone? She wears her long blonde hair under a beret.