The Lady Of The Tower

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 There once was a lady, beautiful in appearance and heart, born to royalty but captured at birth by the King of Darkness. She grew up living as his prisoner in a tower somewhere deep in the wilderness unaware of who she was. Ignorant of her family, her royalty, her purpose and guarded by trolls. She tried to live her life the best she could with a positive outlook in her confined space and her physical need was met but she was mistreated by the evil pungent trolls that denied her freedom. Making her the butt of their cruel jokes, telling her lies about herself. About her life. Who she was. Abusing her heart at every opportunity for their own wicked musings. Deviously malignant they are in their methods and the stripes they leave behind.

But still, despite torment, the lady furnished and garnished her tower to her liking, made clothing to her liking, doing the best with what she had. In fact she thought it was all quite beautiful and was satisfied with it all.  Expect for the defenses at the entrances to her tower that she kept trying to put in place to deny the entrance of the guards. She had no training in the matter therefore her defenses failed over and over. Despite her best efforts she could not keep them out. The woman’s self-esteem continued to drop being subject for so long to the constant onslaught of lashes and darts. She was believing the lies. They penetrate. They deepen. Her outlook on life diminishes. She began to wonder why she even existed at all. “There must be more to this life than this!” she often screamed from her balcony into the night. Finally one bright day, near noon, her despair caused her to cry out the window begging for rescue. The days dragged on. The mistreatment continued. The shabby repairs to the damage done to the defenses at the doors continued. The light in her heart flickered. Lingering as if begging to be let go.

But one moonless night there was a commotion outside the one door never used by the guards when they sought demonic entertainment. Indeed, the lady’s defense never had to have been repaired there. The distance noise roused her from her rest. Becoming aware she began to become frightened as the sounds of violence seemed to be getting closer. Furnishing breaking. Heavy feet shuffling. Grunts and insults laden heavy with hate filled pun and cursings voiced troll. Shields impacted. Swords at play. In what seemed like but a moment they were right outside the door. The lady became more afraid, rose up out of her warm plush bed and ran to crouch in the darkness of the farthest corner of the room. The sound outside the door intensified climaxing suddenly with the ghastly slow death moan of a troll. Then came a moment of silence. There was a hard cold thump from the floor of stone. She felt the cool chill well known of a last breath let go. She heard a deep breath. A heavy sigh. And suddenly… a sound as if the wood that was her defense was shattered minut into uncounted splinters… followed by the sound of a voice. A rough voice muttering, “What… in all creation… is this?!," as a dark form enters into the tower. The lady still hiding in the darkness heard the voice. She realized it wasn’t one of the guards. It was the voice of a man. It seemed gruff, but pleasant to her ears. “It’s my defense to deny entrance of the trolls,” the woman, afraid and unsure of this encounter replied in a voice just above a whisper. “Show yourself!” the voice commanded harshly. The lady stood up, still a bit shaken, straightened out the wrinkles in her long pretty gown, then replied stubbornly in a voice visibly trying to hide her anxiety, “Please step into the light that I may see with whom I am speaking.” “Very well” the voice softened responded as the dark form which is becoming seen is much larger than the trolls emerges from the blackness of the night into a single ray of light coming down from above. He steps into the center of the radiant stream, then kneels, salutes his fresh bloodied sword, bows, stood up, sheathed his sword, lifted his visor and began to say, “My lady. Your cry for deliverance has reached the throne of The Creator of all that is and in Whom all things exist. The Almighty has directed my king to rescue you. My king, The King of Light, has sent me to bring you home. But we must make haste. We must escape this place while it remains to be night.”

The lady has not seen a man such as this before her. There were some men being held captive nearby. She could hear their cries of woe in the night and sees them from her lofty tower being marched off to their slave labor every day. They were as lifeless as she. Beaten down and penetrated with the lash and dart of many lies. Void of any hope. Seeing them made her happy to have her tower and fine clothing. The lady believes she knows what manner of man this is. She has heard the guards speak of them. They call themselves “warriors.” That they are men and women. It’s been whispered during the change of guard often how disruptive warriors are to the king’s desire.  How deadly they are. How they shine bright white in battle. Illuminating so brightly when massed it blinds the ranks of the troll armies. But this one did not appear as she had imagined them to be. He was wearing armor of a darkish nature as if it could be black while he stood just outside the light. But as he stepped into the light it looked wearied. Quite visible were the dents. In many places. Scratches deep in others. She could see two punctures to the chest in his armor and wondered silently how anyone could survive such wounds. This armor spoke to her of many campaigns endured. But what caught her eye was that it had a shine like she had never seen. It shined as tainted bright white reflecting the light coming down from above. Looking into his face she thought him to be handsome.  His eyes fierce… yet she sees a gentleness behind them both. His voice seems abrasive. But… genuine. Truthful.

But still stubbornly clinging to her fear the lady put up a new defense to seem unimpressed and said, “I don’t know you or this king you speak of. Why should I trust you?!” “My lady”, the warrior replies, his voice becoming agitated. “We don’t have time for this! We must go. Now!” “Not until I see some proof of who you are and your intentions,” she demands sternly crossing her arms. “I am the lady of this tower and I shall have proof!” “Tower?!,” the warrior exclaims in surprise. “Proof? You require proof?!,” as he marches with his armor and sword sheath gently clanging with both hard impatient steps to the nearest wall almost outside the light. “Here is your proof!” as he reaches up and grabs a handful of the wall and begins to tear down the pasted paper scraps of faded colors that were covering a dark, damp, dingy brick wall. “This is no tower my lady. You are in a filthy, windowless, odorous dungeon!”

“What are you doing?!,” the woman shrieks and from the darkness begins to fling everything at her disposal at the warrior. “Leave my tower alone!” The warrior instinctively raises his shield to block the same projectiles the guards use on her until she exhausts her supply of darts to hurl… to which he then tells her, almost growling, “We don’t have time for this! We must go!” She runs at him, just inside the edge of the light, wanting to hurt him but he catches her at arm’s length and in doing so rips the paper mache gown she’s wearing, revealing dirty, oily rags hidden under the graying veil of no real value. They stand there motionless for a moment. They look. They see. The warrior sees the rags she’s wearing, some of the wounds left behind by her captors. She sees the damage done to the wall and to her gown. What she has tried to hide is now exposed to the light. The brutal truth of her situation begins to set in. On the two of them both. She falls to her knees just inside the darkness crying into her hands.

“My lady,” the warrior gently tells her, “You do not deserve this. This place is not your fault. You do not belong here. I am sent to deliver you back to your people.” He steps back into the center of the light, kneels before her, looks over at her crying just outside of the light. With tears forming in his eyes the warrior prince begins his final earnest plea. “You truly are royalty my lady. You were born to be a warrior princess. You deserve much better than this. Your inheritance is great. Your cry for escape from this place is answered this night. Our king has sent me to rescue you, to bring you home to Zion on the sides of the north of which you are a daughter of. Where colored banners fly freely along the whited walls and our people await you. Upon your arrival there will be rejoicing overflowing into the streets, with feasts, music and dancing in thanksgiving to the Creator for your safe return. There is a troop waiting outside the north wall for us in support of your rescue. I will protect you while we make our escape from this place and through the wilderness. We will guide you to Zion but you must take my hand and remain close. I will train you to defend yourself along the way. There will be attacks and sudden ambushes and the journey is not simple. I am not certain the duration. But in the Kingdom of Light we have a law that we will not go against another’s will for one's self. If you choose to stay in this dungeon your wish will be respected. If you must stay, stay. But I must go. There are many of our kingdom taken prisoner at birth by the King of Darkness. The warriors would but for a certain profit by your strengths. But... as The Creator has put forth, the path of your destiny is yours to walk.”

The hurried sound of forces gathering from afar off reach his ears. They pick up the frigid hate filled voice of the King of Darkness, heard rumbling faintly in the distance. "She must NOT escape! Bring that wretched creature to me. Kill the warrior! Find his troop! Destroy them aaaall!" The warrior knows it is time to go. He rises, takes off his right glove, wipes the moisture from his eyes, lowers his visor, lifts his arm into the darkness towards the now somber lady as she rises from her knees still in the darkness. He notices... her saddened wet face begins glistening softly in reflection of the light from above as she stands there looking up to its source, the King of Light. And realizes instantly. The lady... This woman who did not know who she truly was... the lady of this "tower"... she that had been born to be a warrior princess... had just won her first battle.

THE BATTLEFIELD OF SPIRITUAL WARFARE IS PRIMARILY IN YOUR OWN THOUGHT LIFE | made w/ Imgflip meme makerThe heart within the chest of the warrior swells with joy. The last portion of wounds suffered it and carried for so long... vengeance craved for the loss of two of his children at the hands of the trolls... heals. Faithfulness... virtue... and resolve deepen.

His armor intensifies brilliance in reflection of the light that comes down from above. The two punctures to the chest hasten to close quickly, as though this moment were impatience relieved and past overdue. The taint dissolves.

But what is this? A single tear begins to reform underneath the warrior's outstretched hand. Born of the warrior's deep compassion for the lady it builds from ample supply in eager anticipation of being released. But it lingers. It swells more. It stretches, reaching out for its destination. It reaches more. A little more. But yet it lingers. As though it has a will of its own. That it does not want to leave. Why? Why does it linger? Is it refusing the very forces of creation? This cannot be, for the Creator has declared these forces must be satisfied. And satisfied they shall become. Unable to keep its grip on the warrior's steady hand under the weight of the massing of multiple tears, fall it finally does. The elongated swollen single tear escapes. Silently. Through the darkness. Just outside of the light. Unobserved of the senses. Accelerating toward the destiny awaiting it.

Creation nods its approval. The forces are satisfied. The Creator smiles omnisciently.

While the warrior... although energized for whatever lies before him... can only muster but an uncertain heartbreak pending of a whisper as he fights anxiety attempting to strengthen every moment delayed and facing the response he does not want... to the lady of the tower... from the center of the light, "We can no longer linger. We must go. Now. I beg you in the name of the King of Light. Please! My lady!"

"Take, my, hand!"

The Spiritual Competition: Attack!
- Published 08/12/2019