by K. C. Hilton
I shrugged. “This is me,” I whispered to myself. Every step I moved away from the real me, the closer I’d get to the future. Eventually, there would be nothing left of what once was. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
No. Gretta could bring my morning water to my room. It was the least she could do. Besides, it seemed to keep her satisfied for some reason.
I sank my frigid hands into the warm water. For so long we’d avoided new-fangled things, like plumbing and appliances, but it didn’t take long to see that certain modern conveniences sure would be helpful to life in the castle. At first, Gretta would only risk bringing in new things that she could carry herself, rather than risk exposure to the outside.
It was never really a hardship to us. It was all we knew. But eventually…violent memories of my last illness filled my head with visions of vomiting and fever. I shuddered away the thought. We'd decided to take a chance with some hired help—installers they called them.
I dipped my washcloth in the warm water, then squirted some lavender bath gel in the center and rubbed it over my face and shoulders, inhaling the delicate floral aroma. Bath products. There was another modern convenience I'd never want to do without. Thanks to online shopping and UPS, I should never have to.
I lowered the washcloth into the basin and swished it around until the soap was mostly gone. I gave another quick pass over my freshly washed skin to remove the last of the residue. I dropped the rag beside the basin and looked to the table beside it for the tools of my hardest labor.
I gripped the wooden handle of my sable hairbrush and let out a deep sigh as I pulled some loose strands that Gretta had missed when she cleaned out the bristles for me. No matter how much I brushed, my hair would need more. I could brush twenty-four hours a day if I wanted to, but I refused to let it take over my life. It wasn’t my fault that it hadn't stopped growing since that dreadful night. My golden hair had become as burdensome as a yoke on a pack mule.
My hair was as long as one of the ropes coiled in the barn. I knew without a doubt I could throw it over a tree branch and swing from it. I knew this, because I'd tried it. After I reached the realization that I really had nothing to lose, I tested my limits on a lot of things. In many ways, there were no limits.
Cutting it sure didn't work, believe me. I'd tried everything. Not even the strongest axe or the hottest fire would splinter or even dent my cursed locks. I knew, because I'd tried even lighting my hair on fire just to see if it would burn. Nothing worked. The only time my head released even a strand was into a sable hairbrush—like magic.
I turned the brush over in my hand and inspected the wood grains. From the outside it looked completely normal, just like any other cursed thing, just like me, but I knew the truth. I knew that Gretta had infused magical powers into that brush so I’d be forced to use it. It held a power I couldn’t explain.
I wish I had the guts to defy her silent demands.
So, braids were the sole choice for me as the only way I could keep the seeming miles of tresses manageable and out of my way. I had to do something with it if I wanted to have any semblance of freedom and ability to move throughout my day.
I wondered how much control I really had. If Gretta really wanted to hinder me, would I be able to stop her from working her will? For now she let me believe I had power over myself. I could only hope it wasn’t an illusion—or at least not a complete illusion. But I wasn’t sure.
The golden sunshine, peeking through the curtains, lured me to the window, urging me to let it in. How could I resist? I needed the fresh air to fill my lungs. I needed to try to forget that awful nightmare.
I released the center latch then pushed on the wooden frames, forcing the windows to swing outward. I lifted my face to the sky and let the sun warm my skin. I squinted then closed my eyes as I took a deep breath of morning air and held it, just for a moment. The lush valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains in the distance was about the only thing that eased my mind and helped me through each day. Could there be a more beautiful view in all the world?
The birds whistled a new morning tune and the stream trickled nearby. It had the properties of being a lovely new day, but deep inside, I knew the nightmare would never truly go away. This was only a glimmer of light in a cave of darkness—not nearly enough room to breathe easy.
“Good morning, Paradise Valley,” I whispered into the breeze. I didn’t want to disrupt the morning melody that greeted me as it did each day. I always hoped for a response, a connection with the life around me, but none ever came. The closest I got to a friend was the little squirrel that used to come every afternoon to perch on the windowsill and beg for nuts. It had been many weeks since he’d last visited. He must have died. Lucky little fellow.
Trying to mimic the chirping birds, I whistled an offbeat tune as I opened the armoire doors and tried not to catch my reflection in the inside mirror. I failed as my gaze traveled to my face. I scrunched my nose and sighed, running my fingers over a few loose strands of hair.
If I started right away, I could have it washed and rinsed within two hours. With the help of a hairdryer I could have it brushed and dried before noon. Tighter plaits on each side before joining them together into the long main braid, then looping it up near my shoulders, then fastening it together with a long ribbon should do the trick. My arms would be sore for a full week until I had to do it again. Eh. Tomorrow could be a hair day. After all, what did it matter?
“I really do need to get dressed.” It was good to hear a friendly voice, even if it belonged to me.
A delicate once-white dress hanging on the opposite door caught my attention. It always looked so perfect hanging there, waiting. Hopeful. It didn't matter how old it got, it was still fashionable, even if it was a bit yellowed. It might not have graced the cover of one of today’s magazines, but it was mine. My fingers trailed over the silky fabric and lingered on the delicate lace. I squeezed my eyes closed, but not before a single tear escaped. It wasn't the dress's fault.
No, the dress was meant to be the beginning of a wonderful new life—a promise. It was meant to be my wedding dress, a symbol of my undying love for Henry. Now it served as a painful reminder of a once happy life. A life I could have had with Henry.
A life that was stolen from me.
Soon it would be time to press it and freshen it up for my birthday tradition. This year it would be during the full moon.
What would have happened if I had managed to run away that day? Would we have escaped with both our lives? I shouldn't have tortured myself about it, but I did. Constantly. “It should have been me,” I whispered, still touching the fabric. “It should have been me. Not Henry.” It was my fault. Biting my lower lip, I recited the mantra I’d been saying for years, but it would never alter anything. I couldn’t change the past.
I'd heard people say they wouldn't change one day in their lives. I felt a bit differently. If I had a chance to change one day, just one, I would. I’d give anything for that opportunity. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but I brushed them away in a fury. It was a new day and I would not cry.
I lifted the dress and laid it across my body, draping the sleeves down my arms to my wrists. Maybe this was the year. Maybe it was time to put a stop to the annual madness of memory. I gazed down toward my feet, the lacy train pooling on the floor behind me. How many years would this go on?
Maybe. Maybe, I could cover the dress in plastic and tuck it away. If I could get it out of sight, in a remote closet somewhere else in the castle, maybe I could keep myself from putting it on and be one step closer to healing. Then again, I would be one step farther away from Henry. I let my fingers trace the line of tiny pearl buttons down the sleeve. Could I withstand the temptation to slip my arm in that sleeve and fasten each button, one by one, imagining the steps I would have taken to meet my groom at the altar?
Or, like always, like I knew I would, I could wear the dress. I could think of Henry. And I could dream of what might have been. Wha
t should have been.
No matter how right I knew it was to let go, I simply couldn't. I lifted the dress off my body and hung it back in his spot. I looked a little closer at the sleeve; the yellowing had become more pronounced in recent years. Maybe after this birthday I would have to find a way to store it. Preserve it for many more years of birthday celebrations.
So much for letting go.
In one month, I would wear this lovely dress again—with the matching slippers, of course. I’d stand in front of my large window at sunset and light my daily candle. I’d hold the flickering flame near my cheek to feel its warmth, as had become my custom, then I’d place it on the window sill as a sign to the dragon of my safe presence inside my tower.
Once I felt safe, once the dragon had been appeased, the full moon would light my way to the stream, the only place I might feel close to my Henry. It wasn't the same place we shared our wonderful kiss, but it was the closest in resemblance. The actual place was far, far away. I’d probably never make it back home, to the place I grew up, but I could still hope. Maybe one day.
Then again, I'd come to love this place, the valley and the mountains. I especially loved the way the stars twinkled during the cold months.
“Rapunzel, are you awake?”
My eyes snapped open. Gretta. Back to reality.
I swore that old woman must spy on me. How else would she know when I was awake? The sound of footsteps echoed near the top of the stairs and stopped on the other side of my massive bedroom door.
Why did she continue to frequent my tower even after she brought the water and prepared my toiletries each morning? Wasn't it bad enough she lived in my home? She had no business being in my tower uninvited, yet she continued to test her boundaries and my patience year after year, decade after decade.
Gretta wiggled the door latch. “Your breakfast is ready!” her voice sang out. I'd never allowed her inside for a social visit. I learned long ago if I let her get comfortable in my room, she’d make a habit of it. I didn’t want her digging around in my belongings, touching the items I’d brought from the past. From my home. She had no right being familiar with me or with my things. She only dwelled in the castle–like a tenant or a servant. I barely tolerated her presence and she should count her blessings that I hadn't made her leave to that point. If I hadn’t promised Father…
Honestly, it was a wonder Gretta still had the energy to climb those steps after all these years, especially carrying the basin of water. Surprisingly enough, she hadn't fallen yet.
But why did she do it? Breakfast was ready at the same time every day. There was no need to climb the stairs to tell me. Why did she feel the need to announce breakfast at the same time, every single morning? Maybe she was just being nice and trying to make things right with me somehow. I hadn't wavered in my disgust toward her once in 250 years. Why should I give in now?
She could be nice all she wanted. I never wished her there in the first place. It was all her fault we had to come and live at the castle anyway. She could pretend she was just checking on me because she worried for my wellbeing, but I knew the truth. I knew she worried that I would sneak away and never come back. I wished I could go away, but where would I go? What would I do? Besides, we both knew my leaving was impossible. The dragon would never allow it.
I leaned my back against the wall and tried to catch my breath. My body trembled and my legs grew weak. It wasn't long before their strength gave out. I slid down the wall to the floor. I covered my face before the tears fell.
A loud pounding on my door echoed through the tower. I held my breath and tried to stay quiet. Just go away.
“Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Are you in there?” Gretta's high-pitched tone sounded panicked, though why was a mystery. She’d seen me sleeping in my bed not long ago. If I were to run, I’d steal away in the middle of the night, giving myself more time to get away.
“Yes, I'm here. Everything is fine.” I guessed that depended on the definition of fine. Should I go to her? But why? Why would I comfort a witch?
I heard her footsteps going down the stone steps. I wished she and I were truly friends, but how could we be when I didn’t trust her? No, not her. Just a friend—any friend. It had been so long since I’d lost Suzette. I shook my head of the memory. Now wasn’t the time for that.
If it wasn’t for that dragon, I’d be gone. Why was the beast so angry when it discovered my absence when last I’d run away? It was on that night that I realized that the candle represented something to him. Aside from the fact that the beast had become protective over me, by lighting the candle and placing it in the window, I announced that I was home, alive, and safe in my tower. It served as a symbol of my wellbeing. I certainly didn't want an angry mob of people knowing my secret or knowing what sort of creature lived on my land. So every night since that horrible night, I lit a candle and placed it on the window ledge to keep the beast calm. A candle worked better to soothe a fierce dragon than music ever would.
Perhaps I was just being silly. It wasn’t possible for anyone, let alone Gretta, to spy on me. I could hear the sounds of anyone climbing the stairs to approach my tower chambers.
Now, if I were still in the master suite I’d once occupied on the lower level, maybe it would have been believable that Gretta could spy on me. But, here in the tower? No way. Why did I ever agree to allow Gretta to live with me? Why did my father want her here? I should never have made that promise!
Who in their right mind agreed to live with a witch?
CHAPTER NINE
What else could I say? “I'll be down in a few minutes, Gretta.” Father said I must always call her by her given name. I'd never forgotten his face the day I first stood outside the family's castle beside the witch who’d stolen my life and handed me eternity. It was hard to understand, even at the time, how Father, a rational human being, could come to understand so quickly what had been and what would be, so much so that he knew what promises to elicit from me even then. It was almost as if he had seen into the future and knew exactly what would happen. I wish he’d told me what was coming.
So, I held my tongue and ground my teeth against the accusations and reminders I wanted to hurl at Gretta on a daily basis. Politeness and civility became another morning ritual, all just to keep a silly promise I made to my father centuries ago.
It made sense at the time. Gretta would live there at the castle with us, kept close so she could one day reverse what she had done to me when I found a way to convince her to do so. Besides, at least we were together—the likely alternative was that Gretta would have taken me far away against my will. But here I was, two hundred years later, still having breakfast with the witch, still being polite. Father had been freed 199 years ago. And I missed him every single day.
But one thing grew increasingly clear. Gretta was in as much danger as I was of being discovered.
An old woman who forever withered away but never died, and a girl who remained as youthful as a freshly blossomed flower? Oh, how the odds were stacked against us. I found it surprising that we had managed to last so long in the same habitation.
My stomach growled in protest over the delay, so I grabbed my robe and headed for the kitchen. The delicious aroma of crisp bacon and freshly brewed coffee lured me down each step as I got closer.
Sometimes I wondered if Gretta had lost some of her powers. Maybe she had no real hold on me, but I had no way of knowing it. I shrugged off the thought. It was fruitless to ponder things I couldn’t know and couldn’t do anything about.
I remembered enough of the past all too well in my dreams.
“Good morning, Rapunzel,” Gretta greeted with her back turned to me. She always knew when I entered a room, even when I was as quiet as could be. I gave up trying to decipher her and the way she functioned ages ago.
“Morning,” I replied. What was so good about it anyway? I woke up each day still crying from a horrible nightmare and she thought it was a good morning? Not that I wanted to talk about my drea
ms with her. She was the reason for them. I'd much rather we kept our conversations to a minimum. The less chatter the better.
I didn't intend to be rude. I was just keeping things simple. It was much better that way. I didn't want Gretta to have any false sense of friendship with me, because this was as far as we would ever go: silence for the most part, short exchanges when necessary, and a love/hate relationship with the walls that kept us away from each other's company, but refused to choose a side. But mere existence aside, as long as I lived, as long as I breathed, I would never forgive the woman who took everything that mattered most to me.
“I'm going to town.” Gretta startled me from my ponderings. She turned to face me as she sampled the coffee she'd been stirring. “I'm sure you'll be fine on your own. Maybe I'll find you a nice book or two?” She never asked me if I would like to go with her. Not that I blamed her. It wasn't like we were best friends or anything, or that I'd actually care to go with her anyway. She knew the answer, even without me giving the words life, so she didn't bother to ask.
The tractor cart was filled with the fruits and vegetables from our garden. I knew because I’d filled it myself the day before. Since it was otherwise in use and we didn’t have a car, she would have to call a cab.
How she managed to leave the grounds didn’t matter to me. I could spend the day free of her watchful eye.
For the most part, Gretta kept to herself and didn't bother me much. She enjoyed cooking, sewing during the cold months, and selling our fruits and vegetables in the summer at the local farmer's market in the surrounding towns. At least she could stay out after nightfall without the dragon growing angry. I’d always been envious of how she could blend in with a crowd of people and easily be forgotten. While I, on the other hand, couldn’t risk going to town as often as she did because I had an unforgettable face. Gretta said both women and men would always remember a beautiful face. The women were envious, and the men desired me, but an old woman would go unnoticed.