Rapunzel (Faerie Tale Collection), Page 3

  “Interesting.” The woman walked toward her and stopped a few paces away. “It is good to see that you have a lively, active mind. It will take you far.”

  She did not know what to say. “Thank you.”

  Lady Vactryne snapped her fingers, and a small bookcase appeared by Rapunzel’s trunks of clothing. On one shelf sat five books. On another, a basket brimful of yarns and threads and the like, and on another, a brand-new collapsible easel and box of paints.

  “Oh!” The witch was providing her with entertainment. Rapunzel rushed to the books and quickly pulled out each one.

  “They are books on several different subjects. Magical books.”

  “What?”

  “Each time you open the book that contains the subject you wish to read about, the words shall be different, and you shall learn and experience something new.”

  Rapunzel slowly turned one of the books over. It was a beautiful maroon hardbound with gold leafing. “Are you jesting?” Her heart began to pound in excitement at the possibility.

  “No. I never jest. I have given you five books. One on history around the world, one on interesting facts, one on the most modern technology and advances, one on particular memoirs and adventure stories, and one you did not mention, but I assumed you would like—fairy stories. A compilation of every fairy tale ever written.”

  “Great heavens!” These were by far the most amazing books she had ever been given.

  “Just a moment.” The witch snapped her fingers again. “There. Now, if you ever wish to reread a particular story or fact, you may simply ask the book to show it to you again, and it will.”

  Rapunzel smiled for a moment, completely distracted by the prospect of such wondrous things. She placed the book back on the shelf and her mind drifted briefly to her mother, always reading to her before bed. Such happy memories . . . And then her stomach clenched. Her mother was stone! No number of magical gifts could replace that.

  She glared at the witch. “Why have you done this to me? To my family? Why I am here? I do not understand your purpose.”

  Lady Vactryne smirked. “You do not need to know my purpose, do you? You merely need to understand the rules of your new home so that I do not have to kill you.”

  “Better I die than to be here with you!” Rapunzel flung out.

  The witch flew at her and grabbed her jaw, her sharp nails digging into the sensitive flesh of Rapunzel’s throat. “Listen here, Princess,” she hissed in a frightening whisper. “Your impudence will serve no one. I suggest you remember that I am allowing you this opportunity and to be grateful that I have fitted you up in a room so nice as this. I did not have to.”

  “Why?” Rapunzel gasped. “What do you want me for?”

  Lady Vactryne pulled back. Her brown eyes flashed orange for a moment as she searched Rapunzel’s features. “Why would I want you? Why would I punish your family and turn them to stone?” She laughed, a slow smirk making its way upon her lips. “Do you not know the rule for those who steal from a witch?”

  Rapunzel shook her head slightly, the nails still digging into her throat.

  The witch’s eyes snapped to hers. Raising an eyebrow, she whispered, “Those foolish enough to take from one of such power as I have should know that I then can return any time I wish and take that which is most precious to them. Never, ever steal, my dear girl, or your fate may not be much better.”

  So many questions rattled through Rapunzel’s mind, so much confusion and chaos. But mostly came the thought, Are there really people as cruel as this in the world?

  Rapunzel gasped as the witch let her go and walked to the balcony. She watched the woman whisper some bit of nonsense and then traced her finger over the whole length of the balustrade railing.

  “If you so much as attempt to escape from this home I have graciously provided for you, I shall know instantly.” Lady Vactryne turned and looked at her. “And then you will really pay for your disrespect.” She snapped her fingers, and shards of the fallen water pitcher flew from the ground into the air above them and reformed itself into a perfect container once more. It floated easily to the small dresser it had been upon. “As long as you are obedient and do not try to escape, the magic in this room shall remain. Meaning, you will always have food, water, and entertainment. If you choose to break away from my hospitality, the lessons you learn shall be quite harsh. Do not attempt to usurp my authority. Do you understand?”

  Rapunzel had no notion what the woman could be planning, but she could not imagine her life in this place forever. She would escape somehow, someway, when the timing was right. “Yes, I realize what you are saying.”

  “Good. Then we are in agreement. I shall leave you to get acquainted with your home and new lifestyle. It may take some getting used to, but you will be able to adjust well, I am certain.” Her skirts swished around her ankles as she gave a smirk and then said merely, “Good-bye,” before disappearing in a poof of grayish smoke.

  JONATHAN’S HEART CLENCHED AS he left yet another abandoned home of the witch. Where was she? It had been over a week now and there was still no trace of his sweet Rapunzel. The hope he once had of finding her was slowly being replaced with dread. Something he thought would be quite simple to attain, he now understood to be much longer and harder than he could have imagined. Already he had sent word to school and to his father that he was putting off all other activities until his Rapunzel was home safe and her kingdom restored.

  His outriders had combed the whole area, looking for any clue they could find to continue on with their search. Rapunzel’s servants, too, were actively interviewing and rewarding anyone who had information on the whereabouts of the witch. But it was all for naught. Nothing seemed to work. Instead, it had been an exhausting, worrisome road. Where was she?

  He slowly made his way to his awaiting horse. Just as he was about to climb into the saddle, the bile in his stomach rose as he imagined the worst of his fears for a few moments. Instead, he grasped the leather horn and allowed the wave of nausea to glide over him. His beast did not move a fraction of inch and took his forlorn weight as he rested his cheek upon the smooth seat, weary.

  Would he ever see her again? The pain of the thought was too much to bear and he winced. Enough, he scolded himself. It will do you no good to think right now. Just act. Move. Go. Find her.

  He took a deep breath, and in a swoop of determination, he quickly climbed atop the horse. He would succeed. He would find her. Or he would die trying.

  RAPUNZEL SIGHED AS SHE leaned against the balustrade and looked out at the world below her. Beautiful green grass and tall pine trees could be seen far and wide. It had been over seven months now since she had been trapped in this awful little place. Seven whole months. And it had been at least three weeks since she last attempted to flee.

  She glanced at the small jagged scar upon her hand. It was the only thing left of the marks and bruises she had received the last time the witch caught her endeavor to escape. Sighing once more, she closed her eyes and winced. What in the world was to become of her now?

  Honestly, death had to be a better respite than this continual torture, day in and day out, only witnessing the world as a prisoner from a hidden tower. Her heart bled for her dear parents. Many times, she cried herself to sleep worrying over their frozen state, hoping and praying that they had already passed from this realm so as not to be continually trapped in a hard casing. At least she could move her body around this room. The thought of being completely turned to stone gave her terrors.

  The vivid nightmares plagued her.

  However, her deepening sadness was worse. So much worse.

  Over the months, dark thoughts seemed to have completely consumed her once lively and happy mind. She knew it was not right to think so morbidly and cheerfully about death as she did, but she could not help herself. If escape was not an option . . .

  Rapunzel leaned far over the ledge. She could feel the shackles around her ankles begin to dig in painfully. Ugh.
She pushed away from the balcony in disgust.

  If only she could break free of this horrid place.

  She kicked at the large chains that bound her here. Lady Vactryne had insisted that she be properly detained this time as with so many attempts at escaping, she could no longer trust that Rapunzel would not run away.

  As if I would stay willingly, she thought as she walked to the bed and flung herself upon it. The weight of the chains bit into her flesh. With an irritated groan, she sat back up and tugged a portion of the heavy links up on her coverlet to release the extra pressure of the metal dragging upon the floor each time she moved a foot.

  As she flopped back upon her pillow, a small lock of hair flipped into her face. Rapunzel quickly brushed it away and then ran her hands over the shortened strands. Her fingers tugged upon the ends that came to just below her chin. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision of across the room where the large braided rope of hair hung upon the hook near the balcony.

  How foolish she had been to cut off her own tresses and attempt to escape! She should have known the witch would have sensed her endeavors to leave. But she had hoped, had truly thought it was the best plan yet to throw her own braid over the side and climb down. But alas, she was caught and beaten soundly for it, and was now shackled to the wall like an animal.

  She curled her legs into a ball, the heaviness of the metal making it a bit more awkward, but the feeling of comfort as she wrapped her arms around her knees was worth it. How she hated this place. How she hated every aspect of being here. Alone. And miserable.

  Rapunzel began to weep as she thought of her happier life, her life full of sunshine and joviality and all things perfect. Oh, to be home again! How she missed it. How she missed her mother’s sweet voice as she sang in the hallways, or her father’s loud laugh as he visited with his friends. She would sneak to the top of the stairs in the castle and listen to the world below. Her parents would be aghast to know how many nights she had stayed awake listening to their galas and dinner parties long after they believed she had been sent to bed.

  The smells of the ladies’ perfumes. Their beautiful gowns and glittering jewels. The wide smiles on the men in their fine attire. Her family had always been sought after as peaceful, joyous company, not eager to fight or to engage in conflict, but merely to coexist and enjoy and help and uplift each other.

  Jonathan’s parents would often come to the parties, sometimes just them alone in an intimate gathering, or at times with masses of groups of people. How she had wished she could join them all! That was the reason for her coming-out birthday party, to allow her to finally enjoy the lavish lifestyle and evenings her parents did. To be considered old enough to participate. And to finally be allowed to dance at the balls.

  A pain surged through her heart at the thought of missing that dance. Poor Jonathan. What must he think of all this? She glanced at the smallest trunk that held every single letter he had ever written her while he was away at school. She sighed. To finally have had a chance to hug him again, to laugh with him, to speak with him, to see him!

  A small tear made its way down her cheek. What had happened to him? Had the witch found his family and turned them to stone too? What was she to do without him?

  To think that was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

  A time to celebrate.

  But now there was no celebrating.

  How she hated her birthday. Her weary heart convulsed as a shot of deep pain hit it hard. She had ruined everyone she loved. She had ruined them all! Looking back, the simplest solution to everything would have been her elimination from the quandary.

  Had Rapunzel simply never been born, her mother would never have been pregnant and craved the flower in the first place, and hence she would still be alive, enjoying her glorious fêtes. Her father would never have thought to steal from the witch and could never have experienced the horror of being turned to stone, frozen.

  Ahhh!

  She grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked. Her mind was too preoccupied even to decipher the pain she knew must be felt.

  How she detested the thought of them incased in stone! Stark fear held her captive. It was too frightening to imagine. Too horrid to comprehend that her parents could not move. Their screams still haunted her.

  She would never forget that sound.

  And she would never forgive herself for causing it!

  Why?

  Why was she the one to live and they to suffer?

  She yanked another handful of hair. This time, the pain was in full force. Good! She wrenched another handful. More tears pricked her eyes as the sting shot its way through her head down to the nape of her neck.

  Rapunzel deserved the pain. Not them. Never them!

  Claustrophobia clawed its way through her darkened mind and choked off her airways.

  The morose thoughts continued to roam and fester and build within her until she was not quite sane for the tears and wailing she produced. One would literally go mad locked away as she was, feeling shame and guilt and begging for the mercy of death to release her from this torment.

  Morbid, horrid torment.

  She wound herself tighter and sobbed to sleep. When she awoke hours later, it was nightfall. The witch had come. A lantern was lit and she could see a fresh pot of flowers upon the table. But the woman was gone.

  Rapunzel gazed at those flowers for what seemed like several minutes while she lay exhausted and physically too ill with black heaviness to move.

  And then in a flash of rage, she grabbed the nearest item she could find, a book, and hurtled the thing right at the cheerful vase.

  Its satisfactory shatter brought a small smile to her lips as the water drained upon the table and the flowers fell in a drowning heap upon each other. Slowly, she closed her eyes again, and all went dark.

  A WEEK LATER, THE heaviness in her chest had become the worst she had ever felt. Listless and uncaring, she stared blankly at the wall in front of her, forgetting about food, about life, about anything at all. She was simply numb, and the weight of her internal darkness was too much to carry anymore.

  She waited to die—was eager to die—so she could slip from this eternal doom into another life awaiting her. One where she was not imprisoned, one where she could be free with her family once more.

  Rapunzel honestly had no thought of blinking, her gaze becoming distorted and blurry, and yet she stared on. Each breath came as a sort of extreme accomplishment.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Lady Vactryne came into the room, and still Rapunzel did not move. The woman murmured around her, brought food toward her as she spoke, her distant-sounding voice too muffled for the girl to comprehend what was being said.

  She honestly could not care less anyway.

  Of course the witch was concerned and would try to revive her back into normalcy.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Rapunzel closed her eyes.

  After a few minutes more, the woman left.

  When Rapunzel opened her eyes again, she found herself staring at a plate and utensils not even six inches from her face. She was reminded once again of the shattered vase, with the flowers dropping to the table surface. The plate looked to be the same color and make as the vase.

  She closed her eyes once more before opening them widely.

  Shattered fragments. There was an object that would shatter into fragments inches from her. She tilted her head a fraction, imagining all the horrors such a sharp piece could do to a person, remembering the image of the butler the day he sliced through his finger on a broken plate and the large, red drops that had splattered the dining hall floor and soaked through the cloth that had been pressed upon the wound.

  All at once, Rapunzel had a desire to throw that plate and break it into splinters. To feel one of the sharp points pierce her flesh. The weight of her arm was immensely heavy. That simple act of her brain co
mmanding her appendage to move seemed completely impossible, for it would not budge a fraction of an inch, let alone the wide arch it needed to reach the plate.

  Instead, Rapunzel stared at the dish for long, dreary minutes, allowing her mind full rein on all the grotesquely fascinating things she could do to herself if only she could find the strength to pick the thing up.

  She awoke hours later to the fading light of day and the plate taunting her with the luminous gleam of the porcelain. This time she rolled over and pushed herself upright in a mad rush before the heaviness held her captive again. Her chest felt tight and weighed down, but the thought of the broken fragment grew more exciting by the moment.

  It gave her a new burst of strange life in the midst of this complete and utter numbness.

  Her fingers curled almost reverently around the plate as she brought it up to her face. Curiosity. Intrigue. The first real emotions she had felt in days.

  The vivid thought of what she could do with such a piece of porcelain consumed her thoughts for several moments before she tossed the whole plate to the brick wall at her right. Food splattered everywhere. It was the first time she had noticed the meal since the witch had set it down. With the chunks of old bits amongst her covers lay shards of broken pottery. Slowly she found the strongest, sharpest one, and was amazed at how alive she felt in those moments.

  She brought the cool fragment to her arm, allowing it to scratch gently along her skin.

  Her notion was to slice from the crook of her elbow to her wrist deeply and swiftly, and then watch in fascination as the skin unfolded to the pouring blood. After, she would lie down on her pillow and stare as it seeped and spread upon her bed. She allowed a small smile to form on her lips as she contemplated those actions. Her life would simply flow out, and then it would be done. This manic torture would be over and she would be finally free of this horrific existence.

  A strange, hypnotically peaceful feeling flooded upon her. This was the answer she had been seeking. This was the truth she needed to find.

  End her life.