The Princess and the Tower
Once upon a time…
A Disney princess was conjured from the faerie dust of the Magic Kingdom, dreamed into being beneath fireworks and castle spires.
Far away in the quiet north, around the same enchanted time, a prince was born—crowned not by ceremony, but by stone and snow. He would inherit the top of a mountain, where the sky was clean and the world stretched wide in every direction.
Everything the light touches is our kingdom.
— The Lion King
Years passed. The prince began climbing towers, searching—though he couldn’t have said for what. Treasure, perhaps. Or the echo of something sacred.
Then, one year during the final days of May, he found a girl in a tower.
She wasn’t trapped. Not exactly. The walls were her own—built from silence and expectation. The kind of fortress no one notices until it's too tall to see over.
A king's time as ruler rises and falls like the sun.
— The Lion King
Aztec Sun God, Oracle Eyes
It was one of their first dates. The plan had been to reach the top. But wind, instinct, and perhaps the quiet words of one or the other, steered them otherwise.
They weren’t in love yet—not officially. But when she looked at him, it felt like a dream remembered. And when he looked at her, he saw a doorway he’d climbed many lifetimes to find.
They never reached the top. Sometimes, the princess wonders if that was the first omen—an unfinished climb hinting at an unfinished love.
Their shared ascent stalled before the peak, like a love that couldn’t quite rise all the way. Its memory still floats halfway between steel and myth, where some stories burn brightest before they fade.
“Ride the snake to the lake, the ancient lake, baby…” — The Doors
The princess didn’t know it then, but there had been other lifetimes. Other towers. Other roles she’d once played.
Maybe that’s why it didn’t last—because they weren’t building a new story, but reenacting an old one.
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