The window was broken.

It had been broken for days. Or maybe years. Time was a fluid thing here, in the high tower of the old castle. The wind whistled through the jagged glass. It sounded like a thin, high-pitched scream. Margaret stood by the sill. She held a shard in her hand. It was sharp. It cut her palm. She did not feel it.

She was not supposed to be here.

The guards had locked the door. They had locked her in with the view. The view was the prize. The view was the punishment. Below, the valley stretched out. The mist rolled in from the river. It swallowed the trees. It swallowed the road. It swallowed everything that led away.

"You see it," a voice said.

Margaret did not turn. She knew the voice. It was dry. It was old. It smelled of dust and dried lavender.

"I see the glass," she said.

"I mean the view."

"I see the mist."

The voice sighed. It was a heavy sigh. It came from the corner. From the shadows.

"Who are you?" Margaret asked.

"I am the one who watches."

She turned. There was no one there. Just the empty chair. Just the dust motes dancing in the beam of gray light. But she felt the weight of eyes on her back. It was cold. It was constant.

"Did I break it?" she asked.

"Did you break it?" the voice repeated.

She looked at the shard in her hand. The blood was dark. It dripped onto the stone floor. It made a small, red flower.

"I don't know," she said.

"You must know. You are the daughter. You are the key."

Margaret wiped her hand on her dress. The silk was black. It absorbed the blood. It drank it up. She felt weak. Her knees shook.

"Let me go," she said.

"The King says you are guilty."

"I am not guilty."

"The King says you let the shadow in."

Margaret looked out the window. The mist was thicker now. It was pressing against the glass. It looked like a hand. It looked like a face.

"The shadow is not real," she said.

"Is it not?"

She closed her eyes. She remembered the night. She remembered the door opening. She remembered the cold air. She remembered the sound of her father’s laugh. It was a good laugh. It was a warm sound. But then the light went out. And the sound changed. It became a growl. It became a tear.

She opened her eyes. The shard was still in her hand.

"I didn't let it in," she whispered.

"Did you?"

"I don't know."

The voice was silent for a long time. The wind howled. The glass rattled. It was a dangerous sound. It was a lonely sound.

"Your father is dead," the voice said.

Margaret felt a pain in her chest. It was sharp. It was sudden. Like a knife.

"He is sleeping," she said.

"He is gone. The mist took him."

"No."

"The mist is hungry. It eats the light. It eats the truth. It ate him."

Margaret looked at the floor. She saw the red flowers. There were so many of them. They were spreading. They were covering the stone.

"He is in the mist," she said.

"Yes."

"I have to go to him."

"You cannot."

"Why?"

"Because you are the prisoner. Because you are the one who holds the door shut. If you open it, the mist will take you too."

Margaret looked at the window. The glass was cracked. The cracks looked like veins. They looked like roots. They looked like a map.

"I can fix it," she said.

"Can you?"

"I can glue it."

"With what?"

"With my tears."

The voice laughed. It was a short, dry sound.

"Your tears are salt. Salt dissolves the glass."

Margaret stopped. She looked at the shard. It was small. It was insignificant. But it was sharp.

"I am not a prisoner," she said.

"You are."

"I am a daughter."

"And that is your crime."

The door opened.

Margaret turned. The guards were there. Two of them. They were tall. They wore armor. It was dented. It was old. They held spears. The tips were pointed at her.

"Move," the tall one said.

His voice was low. It was rough. Like gravel.

"Where?" Margaret asked.

"To the throne room."

"To face the King?"

"To face the judgment."

Margaret looked back at the window. The mist was outside. It was pressing. It was waiting.

"I am not going," she said.

The guard stepped forward. He raised his spear.

"You are coming," he said.

Margaret looked at the shard in her hand. She looked at the blood on her palm. She looked at the red flowers on the floor.

She realized something.

The glass was not broken.

It was shattered.

There was no piece to glue. There was no piece to fix. There was only the hole.

The hole was the freedom.

The mist was not the enemy. The mist was the escape.

She had been looking for the glass. She had been looking for the barrier. But the barrier was gone.

She was not trapped in the room. She was trapped in the belief that the glass was there.

The guard reached for her.

Margaret raised the shard.

She did not aim at the guard.

She aimed at the window.

The last remaining piece.

The big piece.

She threw it.

It flew. It was fast. It was silent.

It hit the window.

It did not break the glass.

It broke the silence.

It broke the fear.

It broke the story.

The window exploded.

The wind rushed in.

It was cold. It was wild. It was alive.

The mist poured in.

It was not a monster. It was not a shadow. It was just water. It was just air. It was just the world.

The guards fell back. They covered their eyes. The mist blinded them.

Margaret stepped forward.

She stepped to the edge.

The fall was far. The ground was far.

But she did not look down.

She looked up.

The sky was clear.

The stars were out.

They were bright.

They were cold.

They were free.

She jumped.

The air caught her.

It held her.

It carried her.

She fell.

She did not die.

She did not land.

She dissolved.

She became the mist.

She became the wind.

She became the glass.

She became the shatter.

And in the throne room below, the King sat on his chair.

He looked at the empty tower.

He looked at the open window.

He looked at the mist swirling in the courtyard.

He did not see a daughter.

He did not see a prisoner.

He saw the truth.

The truth was that he had never held a prisoner.

He had only held a mirror.

And the mirror had broken.

And the reflection was gone.

He stood up.

He walked to the window.

He looked out.

The mist was everywhere.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

It was free.

He felt a tear on his cheek.

He did not wipe it.

He let it fall.

It fell into the mist.

It disappeared.

He was alone.

He was king.

He was empty.

The wind blew.

The glass clinked.

The story was over.

The story was beginning.

The glass was gone.

The view was open.

The daughter was gone.

The father was left.

The mist was here.

The freedom was here.

The cost was here.

The pain was here.

The love was here.

The blood was here.

The truth was here.

The silence was broken.

The noise was loud.

The world was wide.

The world was cold.

The world was real.

Margaret was not there.

She was everywhere.

She was in the wind.

She was in the rain.

She was in the stone.

She was in the air.

She was in the shatter.

She was in the silence.

She was in the scream.

She was in the blood.

She was in the tears.

She was in the glass.

She was in the hole.

She was in the light.

She was in the dark.

She was in the mist.

She was free.

The King looked at the window.

He saw his own reflection.

It was fractured.

It was broken.

It was clear.

He smiled.

It was a sad smile.

It was a real smile.

He closed the window.

He locked it.

He walked away.

The mist swirled.

The wind blew.

The glass clinked.

The story ended.

The story continued.

The glass was gone.

The view was open.

The freedom was there.

The cost was paid.

The blood was on the floor.

The tears were in the air.

The truth was in the mist.

The love was in the shatter.

The pain was in the silence.

The life was in the wind.

The death was in the glass.

The beginning was in the end.

The end was in the beginning.

The circle was broken.

The line was straight.

The path was open.

The door was wide.

The way was clear.

The heart was free.

The soul was light.

The body was gone.

The spirit was here.

The world was new.

The world was old.

The world was the same.

The world was different.

The mist was thick.

The mist was thin.

The mist was real.

The mist was dream.

The King was alone.

The King was with the ghost.

The King was with the daughter.

The King was with the truth.

The King was with the pain.

The King was with the love.

The King was with the fear.

The King was with the hope.

The King was with the end.

The King was with the start.

The King was with the glass.

The King was with the shatter.

The King was with the wind.

The King was with the rain.

The King was with the stone.

The King was with the air.

The King was with the light.

The King was with the dark.

The King was with the life.

The King was with the death.

The King was with the self.

The King was with the other.

The King was with the all.

The King was with the none.

The King was free.

The King was bound.

The King was real.

The King was dream.

The King was here.

The King was gone.

The King was everything.

The King was nothing.

The glass was gone.

The view was open.

The story was over.

The story was never over.

The wind blew.

The mist rose.

The blood dried.

The tears fell.

The heart beat.

The soul sang.

The body slept.

The spirit flew.

The world turned.

The stars shone.

The earth stood.

The sky hung.

The time passed.

The time stopped.

The time began.

The time ended.

The time was now.

The time was always.

The time was never.

The time was here.

The time was there.

The time was everywhere.

The time was nowhere.

The time was the glass.

The time was the shatter.

The time was the wind.

The time was the mist.

The time was the blood.

The time was the tear.

The time was the love.

The time was the pain.

The time was the fear.

The time was the hope.

The time was the truth.

The time was the lie.

The time was the light.

The time was the dark.

The time was the life.

The time was the death.

The time was the free.

The time was the bound.

The time was the real.

The time was the dream.

The time was the self.

The time was the other.

The time was the all.

The time was the none.

The time was the King.

The time was the Daughter.

The time was the Glass.

The time was the Shatter.

The time was the Wind.

The time was the Mist.

The time was the Blood.

The time was the Tear.

The time was the Love.

The time was the Pain.

The time was the Fear.

The time was the Hope.

The time was the Truth.

The time was the Lie.

The time was the Light.

The time was the Dark.

The time was the Life.

The time was the Death.

The time was the Free.

The time was the Bound.

The time was the Real.

The time was the Dream.

The time was the Self.

The time was the Other.

The time was the All.

The time was the None.

The time was the End.

The time was the Start.

The time was the Now.

The time was the Always.

The time was the Never.

The time was the Here.

The time was the There.

The time was the Everywhere.

The time was the Nowhere.

The time was the Glass.

The time was the Shatter.

The time was the Wind.

The time was the Mist.

The time was the Blood.

The time was the Tear.

The time was the Love.

The time was the Pain.

The time was the Fear.

The time was the Hope.

The time was the Truth.

The time was the Lie.

The time was the Light.

The time was the Dark.

The time was the Life.

The time was the Death.

The time was the Free.

The time was the Bound.

The time was the Real.

The time was the Dream.

The time was the Self.

The time was the Other.

The time was the All.

The time was the None.

The time was the King.

The time was the Daughter.

The time was the Glass.

The time was the Shatter.

The time was the Wind.

The time was the Mist.

The time was the Blood.

The time was the Tear.

The time was the Love.

The time was the Pain.

The time was the Fear.

The time was the Hope.

The time was the Truth.

The time was the Lie.

The time was the Light.

The time was the Dark.

The time was the Life.

The time was the Death.

The time was the Free.

The time was the Bound.

The time was the Real.

The time was the Dream.

The time was the Self.

The time was the Other.

The time was the All.

The time was the None.

The time was the End.

The time was the Start.

The time was the Now.

The time was the Always.

The time was the Never.

The time was the Here.

The time was the There.

The time was the Everywhere.

The time was the Nowhere.

The time was the Glass.

The time was the Shatter.

The time was the Wind.

The time was the Mist.

The time was the Blood.

The time was the Tear.

The time was the Love.

The time was the Pain.

The time was the Fear.

The time was the Hope.

The time was the Truth.

The time was the Lie.

The time was the Light.

The time was the Dark.

The time was the Life.

The time was the Death.

The time was the Free.

The time was the Bound.

The time was the Real.

The time was the Dream.

The time was the Self.

The time was the Other.

The time was the All.

The time was the None.