That night, the storm grows to a monstrous size, setting the sky ablaze with its fury. The ground shudders before the clouds emits an ear-splitting crack that shakes the very structure of the glass castle, majestic and eerie in the fading light; tinted black with the ferocity and pure anger of the storm.

Alone in the peak of the tower, Alysia watches the drama unfold as if from the depths of the universe itself. She continues to watch as the clouds twist and swirl, a vortex that gives flesh to her romantic ideology, the feeling that there is something dominating the skies. A force unexplainable yet magnificent, living above the storm that she is now witnessing. Twinkling, the jade glows as if set on fire. The beauty of the stone, bobbing in the darkness of the tower- so eerie, as if Alysia’s soul has been lifted away, cut from the rest of her body with finesse, a piece of cloth to be tailored by the invisibility of the winds-

She cannot resist it. It was there, in the room with the cabinets of ice, hanging from that obscene purple ribbon. As night had enveloped the castle, she had returned to that secret room, a thief in the shadows, and taken the jade. But not before wondering if that last glass casket was made for her.

Now, the jade gives an involuntary gasp that only something living can give; a diver emerged from underwater. She is rigid with fear, even before she can hear the footsteps pounding up the staircase to the tower. The wind batters her face as she steps onto the ledge of the window, ferocious and aggressive. What drove people to do stupid things? And stupid for whom? Humans were complex beings, contradictory. To be driven far enough to provoke a likewise desperate act. If only Alysia knew what lay in store… but a girl cannot predict the future.

The raging storm is gone, replaced by a carpet of white, clouds fluffy and pale. Alysia can reach out and touch it, see what it is really made of, perhaps cotton wool or insulating foam. There would be a city below, twinkling, small and in miniature. Churches with their tall steeples, winding country roads, cattle like ants on a circuit board. Alysia feels sorry for the humans below. If only they knew, or cared to know what was above. They would reach upwards, soar; climb an invisible ladder until they could reach the world beyond. Some would keep on climbing until they reached the ends of the world, and still that would not be enough. Others would remain in their houses and pass life into old age. They would glance out of their windows at the dots in the sky, happy for those who had passed on, watching, open mouthed in amazement.

Alysia is in the air when she lets go. She is flying, the air fresh and cool. For the first time, she is drifting, part of the sky itself, amidst the clouds, flying towards the centre of the universe, with the light to guide her.

Tumbling, twirling.

Demented cackling brings her back. She is not lying on the ground, a shattered pile of bones. Instead, Alysia finds herself suspended in a metal cart of sorts, creaking down a conveyor belt. The swish and buckle of contraptions, tall metal bars that dig painfully into her flesh. She feels her face, pinches her arms- is she dead? All around her are walls of rock, an underground cave of sorts, and deep, deep below, a warm gust of air leaps from a chasm. Sweat tickles down her spine, her vision shimmering as they plop into her eyes. It’s stifling, ‘oh no,’ she manages, ‘I’m in hell.’ Running through all the terrible things she could possibly have done in her life, and yet- nothing warranted this, the rather brutal arrival to the underworld. She had been an obedient, moral human in her time. But, she had jumped out of that window…

The rusty pulleys creak to a halt and Alysia is flung back with force.  There, in the flicker of fire on the rock face, dangling from the ceiling is a shadow of a form with spiders for hair, writhing in a mass, bulbous bellies protruding with evil, beady eyes. The face contorts with rage and insanity. Alysia recoils. Spiders drop on their backs, trying to right themselves. The cave is definitely growing smaller, tightening, compressing. Walls malleable as if made from play dough.

As the rock comes together, Alysia hears the screaming.

It is her own.