Rapunzel (Faerie Tale Collection) (5 page)

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 commanding 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.

It was that simple.

Be done with this all.

Clutching the largest shard with her left hand, she held out her right arm and gave a sort of relieved chuckle as she placed her palm facing up. Taking the point up to the crook of her elbow, she forced it down, stabbing swiftly and eagerly into her flesh. She gasped in pain at the burst of blood that sprang from the wound.