The tower glowed as the dim light shone through the window, a beacon in a forest with mountains encompassing it, the nearest settlement being a village that was too far away from it for anyone to see. It didn't help that the tower was a startling eighty feet tall, soaring high above most of the evergreen trees. Inside was a girl no older than eleven, trying to cook her own food over the wood burning stove top. The pot of water was barely a simmer, bubbles having formed but not quite rolling. "Blasted stove!" she exclaimed as she shoved more wood into the fuel box, unsure how to keep the flames steady yet high enough to boil water. She closed the metal door with a slight slam, pulling the latch back to set it in lock, before dropping the thick kitchen towel on the counter. It had been easy enough she had told herself before she started, but the real deal was different once she had the flame going. "Achoo!" She sneezed, covering her nose with a tea towel and sniffling.
Alice had seen her papa make soup loads of times, but now she was doing it on her own. He always made it look easy and fun while doing so, asking her to help him by peeling vegetables or reading the next step off of the cookbook he had made, recipes procured from different housewives in the village, each one penned with a unique handwriting. The pages were worn as she fingered through them, some watermarked or sticky from past messes in the kitchen as she'd grown up, others not even touched. She recalled her papa saying, "Some of these recipes are too arduous or confusing. Maybe we'll try them when you're older, Alice. Let's stick to the basics for now." He had been away for two weeks, promising from the edge of the tower's vicinity he'd get her out once he found a cure for his poisoned heart, gone longer than she'd ever known.
Back then, she loved arguing with him, saying that she was old enough or that she wanted to get older quickly. Now, there was nothing more that she wanted than her papa's safe return or a way to go back in time to relive that moment, stay with him a little longer in his safe embrace. She wanted to believe that he'd be back like he always did, but she had her doubts sometimes. Her mind kept recalling the Witch's warning from before the Witch poofed away to the ground to taunt her papa.
"Your precious papa will never return unless he's willing to harm another or his pathetic shell finds true love." The Witch had scoffed. "I guess since he kept you, he isn't what I expected. However, he broke his promise to you so easily." She laughed. "Desperation or envy always wins with you humans. I've learned that the hard way. And the latter, well, true love's a fool's game."
Alice remembered screaming for him in desperation after, in denial that he couldn't come back, crying that night for longer than than she wanted. She shook her head, shaking the ominous words away. He may have broken his promise, but he had been there for her when no one had, when he could have left all along. He never made her feel unloved or unwanted. Alice knew that everyone made mistakes, but it didn't mean they deserve to be condemned, couldn't make up for it, or change, no matter how long it took. "We'll find a way," she told herself.
To her knowledge, true love was a thing learned from her storybooks, one that her papa said was real and magic, but hard to find. The heroes in the stories always got the girl after a long journey and either saved them or found out they had true love with a kiss. Alice liked the hero's point of view, but preferred hearing about the girls as if she were rescuing them or exploring their mysterious lives, taking them out on adventures. Her papa would describe the women in the best ways he could for her, sometimes lost thinking about what to say. He'd never tell her that she blushed when he did so. Her papa told her that there were so many folks from different walks of life, she'll find lots of people to love and who'll love her when she gets out of the tower, and it'd be okay because they'll have each other. Except they weren't together and couldn't be.
"Getting older and trying the new things together will just have to wait," Alice said sorrowfully as she flipped the pages of the cookbook. Her head was pounding, urging her to get back to bed, but she knew she needed something good for the soul to bring her temperature down.
Trying to focus on the good bits, a smile crept onto her face at the memory. Alice liked when he used big words and taught them to her. Sometimes, she woke up and caught him in the middle of the night perusing the dictionary, trying to sound out words, shaking his head if he thought a word was hard to comprehend or letting out a small cheer when he felt accomplished. She glanced to her left, his hammock still propped up ready for sleeping in and the dictionary placed neatly nearby upon a small stack of books as if he had been just reading it yesterday, the items eagerly awaiting their owner to use them.
Alice hadn't the heart to touch the books or hammock other than for a light dusting, for fear that if she did, the void of his vacancy and the bitter reality of her missing him would grow even greater. She could barely stand the darkness that sat where he used to be, illuminated by the flicker of the magical hearth, its flame never fully going out. 'His brave little rook' he had called her, but she felt like a hesitant sailor looking for land in a storm. Alice looked away, staring back into Mr. Rabbit's beady eyes, his presence giving her a welcome relief.
"Making vegetable soup is going to be arduous at the rate I'm going," she complained to Mr. Rabbit. His head sat on top of the edge of the cookbook cover, tilted at an angle, as if questioning her determination or trying to show her the way by implying to read the directions. He definitely helped her as he propped up the cookbook, his face peering out.
"You're a great help," she stated, patting his head. "Don't worry, I've got this!" Alice hoped that if she exuded enough confidence, Mr. Rabbit might believe her and help her feel it was true too. "What's the next step?" she asked.
As she read the directions, Alice made her playmate announce the steps, her voice changing tone to depict his usual grumbly but currently overly enthusiastic voice. "Ahh, Alice. It says here to put the chopped vegetables in the pot of boiling water, stirring every once in a while. Have you done that yet?"
"Aye. Well, not yet, but I meant to."
At the pot, standing on her step stool, Alice noticed the water had finally started boiling. The assortment of vegetables provided by the tower, as if knowing her needs, laid nicely chopped on the cutting board. There was carrot, potato, onion, and celery. Although she was sure they looked good, she had to admit that some of them looked wonky, being too thick or too thin as her knife skills weren't up to par yet. She had boiled water for tea before or cooked eggs on a pan, but this was her first time making soup and she had to somehow empty the vegetables into the raging pot.
Doubting her decision of what to do, she looked back at Mr. Rabbit and the cookbook. He looked calm as ever. She took a deep breath to try to do the same. As she reread the paragraph, Alice uttered softly, "Papa." Her fingers traced the words as if she could feel the ridges of the ink off the paper and smell the seawater hanging from his coat again. In the margins of the recipe, there was a warning written in his hand, a message to her.
For no splashes, drop the vegetables in slowly near the surface of the water. Alice, please don't burn yourself!
His reminder could have been written when she was younger, a note placed prematurely since she was vocal about always wanting to nurse him back to health with soup since he did it for her when she was sick. Of course, unlike him, Alice would typically be the one getting sick every once in a while when he came back from selling his services or paintings in the village, so that day never came. The cautionary words were just one of the many throughout the cookbook, hidden gems she didn't want to uncover until they were necessary, a few even being random tips to himself on what they liked better to help tweak recipes like pancakes or cupcakes.
Alice laughed bitterly, tears stinging her eyes and pressure rising in her throat from feeling like he was there, guiding her when she needed it most. She turned her attention away from the cookbook, chilling her regrets and sorrows. The bubbles in the water looked fun to play with, but she knew one touch would sting.
She clutched her left wrist, examining the inner side, the spiral shaped burn still puffy and raised, causing her pain when she brushed it against something by accident. It was slowly healing but it was definitely going to leave a scar. It never hurt as much as it did the day she got it, when her papa was near, but the small mark was still one she was wary of. Alice turned around and grabbed a small scrap of cloth from the fabric strap bin underneath the table. Wrapping it around her wrist, she tied it with a bowline knot, allowing for it to easily stay on and come off easily.
"There!" she said, examining her handiwork, the spiral safely covered in the yellow flower patterned cloth, "Now I won't have to worry about you."
Alice turned back towards the stove, bringing the cutting board close to her chest before slowly plopping the veggies into the pot, dropping them as close as she could to the water's surface without putting her hand accidentally in first.
"I did it!" she said to Mr. Rabbit, shocked by her accomplishment and the loudness echoing across the stone walls. The quiet she had mingled in peacefully before sounded deafening, protruding as she heard ringing in her ears. She cleared her throat. With a change in her voice to different stuffed animals, she pretended as if they were all cheering for her. It made the space feel less vacant than it had in so long.
Alice's excitement soon turned into a coughing fit as she used more energy than her body felt like expending in its weakened state. She fell backwards off the step stool, the ground catching her fall as she wheezed. Slowly gaining her breath back and sitting up, rubbing her sore behind, her lungs felt sore and her throat hurt. The girl grabbed the table and pulled herself up to standing. Her hands firmly gripped the table, panting as she said, "Guess I got carried away." Her smile was still strongly plastered to her face. Mr. Rabbit and the rest of the plushies smiled like they always did. Alice took it as them emoting the happiness they felt that she was alright.
She poured herself a glass of water from a jug and downed the nectar of life. Settling down in her victory, she cautiously took down a wooden ladle hanging from a hook nearby and stirred the pot, careful to not let the water boil over by mixing too fast. Some of the chunks were visible and others were submerged in the liquid. Alice tapped the ladle against the inside of the pot, letting its contents empty, before resting it on a dish until the next stirring session. With her hands planted on her hips, she said, "Let's see where we're at." She looked back at the cookbook, a cough still tickling her throat.