Of The Tower — Girls

There are seven of them now, spread across the seven levels. The youngest, Lin, still cries at night, pressing her ear to the cold floor, listening for the heartbeat of the world below. The eldest, Sereia, has not spoken in three decades—not because she can’t, but because she has learned that silence is the only language the stars understand.

They arrive as girls. They become something else.

Outside, the world grows old and forgets the Tower exists. Wars are fought. Songs are written about other things. But high above the clouds, the girls keep their vigil, because the Tower told them what sleeps beneath the earth—and what will wake when the last girl finally walks out that unlocked door. Girls of The Tower

A new name already taking its place.

So they stay. They grow. They braid each other’s hair in the humming dark. They are not sisters by blood, but by the weight of a choice they remake every dawn. There are seven of them now, spread across the seven levels

They are waiting.

Lin —already fading.

They are not prisoners. That’s the cruel joke. The door at the base of the Tower is never locked. Any girl may leave at any time.