Ryan's castle was magnificent and empty. A great forest grew all around, filled with the most magical wildlife, but no roads cut through the wood. The castle itself was covered in the most vibrant ivy, and it flew many colored flags from the high turrets. The inside walls were covered with epic tapestries, enclosing tastefully furnished halls, drawing rooms, and bedchambers. Yet no gardener tended to the flora, no scout marched along the ramparts. No guest or friend or family ever admired the brilliant weaving or felt right at home in one of the great beds.
Ryan was all alone.
He was very sad, living in his castle. Not only for lacking companionship, but also because he'd grown used to the silence.
Instead of enjoying the wonders of his home, Ryan locked himself away in a high corner of the castle. He spent every day in one of the few rooms, only descending when necessary to replenish his supplies from the storehouse that magically remained full. Up in his tiny room he would look out at the sea of green around him and think about how alone he was. Or he would set up a chess board, or sit in front of a Go board and stare at the motionless pieces. Sometimes he would paint or write, and the dark, violent images would come out so vibrant, so eerily similar to his heart that he threw it all out his window as soon as it was finished, to flutter in the wind and dissolve in the murky moat below.
He was caught one day, staring at his picture of a bear standing triumphantly over a fallen lion, and was so enthralled, so horrified that he could not look away.
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