Rapunzel

There was once, beyond the northern road where merchants stopped traveling because the forest grew too thick and the mountains too steep, a stone tower that had no door at its base, no stairs leading toward it, and no bridge connecting it with any other place in the world, and in the highest room of that tower lived a woman called Rapunzel, who had been told since childhood that the world beyond her window was dangerous, cruel, dishonest, and filled with people who would use anything beautiful until there was nothing beautiful left. Rapunzel was twenty-six years old. She knew this because every spring Mother Varda brought her a small cake with another candle pressed into its center, although Mother Varda never explained why a woman old enough to count twenty-six candles was still forbidden to decide where she wished to live. “You have everything here,” Varda would say. “I have everything you bring me.” “That is the same thing.” “No,” Rapunzel had answered once, quietly but firmly. “It really is not.” Mother Varda had stared at her for so long that Rapunzel had eventually looked away. Afterward she learned to ask fewer questions. She learned to read instead. She read every book Varda carried into the tower, even those she had already read three or four times, and from them she discovered cities where bells rang at noon, marketplaces filled with spices and flowers, harbors crowded with ships, inns where strangers exchanged stories beside fires, dances held beneath lanterns, women who rode horses across entire kingdoms, and lovers who chose each other despite fathers, kings, wars, curses, oceans, and occasionally common sense. Those stories caused problems. Rapunzel began looking out the window more often. She began wondering whether the forest was truly as terrible as Varda claimed. And, increasingly, she wondered whether loneliness was supposed to hurt this much. One evening she asked, “Have you ever been in love?” Mother Varda stopped brushing Rapunzel’s extraordinary golden hair. “What brought that question into your head?” “A book.” “Books bring too many things into people's heads.” “That may be why I like them.” “Rapunzel.” “I asked whether you have ever been in love.” Varda resumed brushing. “No.” “Never?” “Love makes people foolish.” Rapunzel smiled faintly. “So does fear.” The brush stopped again. “You are becoming argumentative.” “I am becoming twenty-six.” “You are becoming ungrateful.” Rapunzel turned. Her hair, which Varda claimed carried an old magic neither of them entirely understood, spilled around her like a golden river. “I am grateful for the food. I am grateful for the books. I am grateful that I have never been cold or hungry.” “And?” Rapunzel looked toward the window. “And I am lonely.” Mother Varda said nothing. That silence answered more than words could have. Three days later, Rapunzel heard a horse. She had heard deer beneath the tower, wolves at night, owls, foxes, even once the enormous cracking sound of a tree falling during a storm, but never the slow, unmistakable rhythm of iron shoes against stone. She rushed to the window. A black horse emerged between the trees. Beside it walked a woman. Rapunzel forgot to breathe. The stranger was perhaps thirty, with warm brown skin, dark curling hair tied loosely behind her head, tall boots scarred by travel, a forest-green coat embroidered along the edges, and a burgundy sash knotted around her waist; a bow and quiver rested across her back, although the sword at her hip suggested she did not depend entirely upon arrows when disagreements became personal. She stopped beneath the tower. Then she looked up. Their eyes met. Neither woman moved. Finally the stranger called, “Well.” Rapunzel leaned farther from the window. “Well what?” “I had been told there was nothing in this forest except wolves, thieves, and terrible roads.” Rapunzel smiled. “There are also terrible mosquitoes.” The stranger laughed. It was the first unfamiliar human laughter Rapunzel had heard in her entire life. She loved the sound immediately. “What are you doing up there?” the stranger asked. “Looking down at you.” “I had noticed that.” “What are you doing down there?” “Looking up at you.” “That also seems obvious.” The woman put a hand over her heart. “Then we are already communicating brilliantly.” Rapunzel laughed, and the stranger looked startled for a moment, as though she had not expected her little joke to succeed quite so well. “What is your name?” Rapunzel asked. “Sabine.” “Just Sabine?” “Sabine Arcel.” Rapunzel repeated it softly. “Sabine Arcel.” Something about saying the name felt dangerous. Not dangerous like wolves. Dangerous like opening a door one had been told must remain locked. “And yours?” Rapunzel hesitated. “Rapunzel.” Sabine looked at the mountain of golden hair spilling over the stone ledge. “I suppose I should have guessed.” “You could not possibly have guessed.” “I might have.” “You are lying already.” “Only a little.” Rapunzel grinned. Sabine did too. Neither seemed particularly interested in leaving. “You should go,” Rapunzel finally said. Sabine's expression changed. “Do you want me to?” “No.” “Then that is a confusing instruction.” “My guardian will return before dark.” “Your guardian?” “Mother Varda.” Sabine glanced around. “Where are the stairs?” “There aren't any.” “The door?” “There isn't one.” Sabine looked back up. “That seems less like guarding and more like imprisoning.” Rapunzel's smile disappeared. “She says it is protection.” “From what?” “The world.” Sabine rested one hand against the tower wall. “The world is mostly mud, taxes, irritating people, wonderful food, dishonest innkeepers, good horses, terrible wine, music, rain, arguments, and mornings when everything smells like bread.” Rapunzel stared at her. “You are not helping.” “I wasn't trying to.” “I have never smelled bread in the morning.” Sabine's face softened. “You should.” Rapunzel swallowed. Sabine looked at the falling length of her hair. Then at the tower. Then back at Rapunzel. “This may be the strangest question I have asked a woman five minutes after meeting her.” “What?” “Can I climb your hair?” Rapunzel blinked. Then she began laughing. Sabine folded her arms. “I am serious.” “That makes it worse.” “How does Varda get up?” Rapunzel stopped laughing. Sabine's eyebrows rose. “Oh.” “Yes.” “That really is how she gets up?” “Yes.” “And she thinks the world is unreasonable.” Rapunzel bit her lower lip, trying not to laugh again. Sabine removed her gloves. “So?” Rapunzel stared at her. “You actually want to come up here?” “Very much.” “Why?” Sabine looked directly at her. “I would like to continue this conversation without shouting at the sky.” That was not the whole answer. Rapunzel knew it. Sabine knew that she knew it. Neither woman mentioned this. Rapunzel slowly gathered her hair. “Hold tightly.” “I intend to.” “That sounded inappropriate.” Sabine laughed. “I think I like you.” Rapunzel's heart made a ridiculous little movement. “You have known me for ten minutes.” “Eleven.” “That makes all the difference.” “It often does.” Sabine climbed. She was stronger than Rapunzel expected, although halfway up she called, “You have an astonishing amount of hair.” “You sounded happier about it from the ground.” “I remain extremely enthusiastic.” “Then stop complaining.” “I am not complaining. I am providing observations.” “Climb.” “Yes, Rapunzel.” When Sabine finally swung through the window, she lay flat on the stone floor for several seconds, breathing heavily. Rapunzel crouched beside her. “Are you alive?” Sabine opened one eye. “I haven't decided.” “I warned you.” “You did not mention the final twenty feet becoming vertical cruelty.” “The entire tower is vertical.” “I was distracted.” “By what?” Sabine sat up. “You.” Rapunzel went completely still. Sabine apparently realized she had said it aloud. “Well,” she murmured. Rapunzel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That was direct.” “I am exhausted. Exhaustion damages diplomacy.” “Do travelers usually climb towers to flirt with imprisoned women?” “Only on Thursdays.” “It is Tuesday.” “Then I have made a serious scheduling error.” Rapunzel laughed again. Sabine looked around the room, at the books, the woven carpets, the small table, the candles, the spinning wheel, and the enormous coils of hair covering much of the floor. Then she looked back at Rapunzel. “You really live entirely up here.” “Yes.” “Alone?” “Except when Varda visits.” Sabine's expression darkened. Rapunzel noticed. “Don't.” “Don't what?” “Look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like I am something sad.” Sabine rose. “You are not something sad.” “Then what am I?” Sabine stepped closer. “A woman who has been denied choices.” Rapunzel's breathing changed. “That sounds worse.” “It probably is.” Rapunzel looked toward the window. “I wouldn't know where to go.” “You don't have to know yet.” “I don't know how people live outside this room.” “You learn.” “I don't know how to ride.” “I teach you.” “I don't know how to buy anything.” “I prevent merchants from cheating you.” “I don't know how to fight.” “Hopefully you will not need to.” Rapunzel looked back at her. “And if I do?” Sabine smiled. “Then I teach you that too.” Rapunzel extended her hand without entirely understanding why. Sabine took it. Their fingers closed slowly around each other. Neither woman spoke. Then Rapunzel whispered, “Why does this feel strange?” Sabine's thumb moved lightly across her knuckles. “Bad strange?” Rapunzel shook her head. “No.” “Then perhaps we should not be afraid of it.” Sabine left before Mother Varda returned. Then she came back two days later. And again three days after that. And after that she came whenever she could. Sometimes she brought food. The first morning Sabine arrived with a loaf of bread still warm inside a cloth, Rapunzel held it against her face and inhaled. Sabine laughed. “I told you.” “This is absurd.” “It is bread.” “It smells incredible.” “It is still bread.” Rapunzel tore off a piece and put it into her mouth. Her eyes widened. Sabine watched her. “What?” Rapunzel chewed solemnly. “I may leave the tower solely because of this.” Sabine nodded. “I always suspected civilization rested upon butter.” Sometimes Sabine brought stories. Sometimes Rapunzel read aloud. Sometimes they argued about books. “You cannot possibly admire Lady Mereth,” Sabine said one evening. “She survives.” “She poisons three husbands.” “They were unpleasant.” “That is not usually considered sufficient grounds for murder.” “You haven't met Mother Varda.” Sabine laughed so loudly that Rapunzel had to cover her mouth. “Quiet!” “I cannot believe you said that.” “I cannot believe I said it either.” And sometimes they spoke about nothing at all, which Rapunzel slowly discovered could be more intimate than speaking about important things. She learned that Sabine hated pears, loved horses, had once broken her ankle jumping from a tavern roof, had worked as a courier during a border war, and had never stayed anywhere longer than two years. “Why?” “Why what?” “Why don't you stay?” Sabine looked toward the window. “I suppose I always thought I was looking for someplace.” “Have you found it?” Sabine's eyes returned to Rapunzel. “Perhaps.” Rapunzel's pulse quickened. She had learned enough by then to understand when Sabine was flirting. She had also learned enough to flirt back. “Perhaps?” “I am trying not to frighten you.” Rapunzel moved closer. “You climbed my hair after knowing me eleven minutes.” “That does make caution rather pointless.” “Very.” They were sitting beside the window. Night had fallen over the mountains. A full moon shone across the valley. Sabine touched Rapunzel's hand. “May I ask you something?” “You usually do.” “Have you ever kissed anyone?” Rapunzel stared at her. “No.” Sabine nodded. Then, very softly, “Would you like to?” Rapunzel's heart seemed suddenly much too large for her chest. “With you?” “I would prefer that.” “You make jokes when you are nervous.” “I am extremely nervous.” Rapunzel looked at Sabine's mouth. Sabine noticed. Neither moved for several seconds. Then Rapunzel whispered, “I think you should stop talking.” Sabine smiled. “That can be arranged.” Their first kiss was gentle. It was also brief. Rapunzel pulled back almost immediately, eyes wide. Sabine froze. “Was that—” Rapunzel kissed her again. This time Sabine's hand rose to Rapunzel's cheek, and Rapunzel leaned into her, feeling something inside herself open with such astonishing ease that she almost wanted to laugh at all the years she had spent believing her life was contained by stone walls. When they finally separated, Rapunzel rested her forehead against Sabine's. “Oh.” Sabine smiled. “Oh?” “I understand the books better now.” Sabine started laughing. Rapunzel pushed her shoulder. “Don't ruin this.” “I would never.” “You are laughing.” “Because you are wonderful.” Rapunzel's expression softened. “You really think that?” Sabine stopped laughing. “Yes.” Rapunzel searched her face. Then she kissed her a third time. After that, things changed quickly. Perhaps too quickly. They began planning. Not vaguely. Not someday. Actually planning. “There is a road south,” Sabine said, spreading a map across Rapunzel's table. “It reaches Bellora in four days.” “Is Bellora large?” “Large enough that no one cares who your guardian is.” “That sounds appealing.” “There is a house outside the western gate where an old friend owes me money.” “How much?” “Enough.” “That sounds suspicious.” “It is completely suspicious.” Rapunzel smiled. “And after Bellora?” “Where do you want to go?” Rapunzel stared at the map. No one had ever asked her that question. She touched one city. “What is this?” “Marent.” “What is there?” “The sea.” Rapunzel looked at her. “The actual sea?” Sabine smiled. “Yes.” Rapunzel touched another place. “And here?” “Varenne.” “What is there?” “Wine.” She pointed elsewhere. “And there?” “Snow.” “And there?” “More snow.” “This map is poorly designed.” Sabine laughed. Rapunzel traced the coast with one finger. “I want to see all of it.” “Then we will.” “You say things like they are simple.” “They aren't.” “Then why say them that way?” Sabine's expression grew serious. “Because difficult is not the same as impossible.” Rapunzel looked at her for a long moment. Then she whispered, “Take me with you.” Sabine's face changed. “Rapunzel.” “Take me.” “I was hoping you would say that.” “You were?” “Since eleven minutes after I met you.” Rapunzel smiled. Then the room went cold. Every candle went out. Sabine stood immediately. Rapunzel's blood turned to ice. “No.” A voice came from behind them. “Yes.” Mother Varda stood in the tower doorway. Not the window. The doorway. A doorway Rapunzel had never known existed. Dark magic curled around the older woman's fingers. Sabine moved between them. Varda smiled without warmth. “So.” Rapunzel stepped beside Sabine. “Mother—” “Do not call me that.” Rapunzel flinched. Sabine's hand moved toward her sword. Varda noticed. “You should reconsider.” Sabine drew the blade anyway. “I usually make poor decisions under pressure.” “Sabine,” Rapunzel whispered. “I know.” Varda's gaze shifted between them. “How long?” Rapunzel lifted her chin. “Long enough.” “You lied to me.” “You imprisoned me.” “I protected you.” “You hid me.” “The world would have taken everything from you.” Rapunzel's voice broke. “You took everything first.” Varda's face tightened. “I gave you safety.” “You gave me walls!” Purple energy flashed through the chamber. Sabine raised her sword. “Enough.” Varda laughed softly. “You think you can protect her?” Sabine planted herself in front of Rapunzel. “I think I can make this inconvenient.” “Sabine,” Rapunzel said. Sabine glanced back. Rapunzel stepped around her. “No.” “What are you doing?” “This is my fight too.” Varda's expression became almost sorrowful. “You foolish girl.” “I am not a girl.” “You know nothing.” “I know I love her.” Silence. Even Sabine looked startled. Rapunzel turned toward her. “Well.” Sabine blinked. “Well what?” “I thought you might say it back.” Sabine stared at her despite the witch standing six steps away surrounded by murderous violet magic. “Now?” “It seemed relevant.” Sabine laughed once in disbelief. “I love you too.” Rapunzel smiled. Varda screamed. The room exploded with wind. Varda's curse tore through the room. Sabine was thrown against the wall. Rapunzel screamed her name. The second spell shattered the window. The third struck Rapunzel. Not her body. Her hair. Golden strands flashed white, and Rapunzel felt the strange old magic that had lived inside it since childhood suddenly break apart like glass beneath a hammer. Varda seized a handful. A blade appeared in her hand. “No!” One cut. Years of hair fell across the floor. Rapunzel stared at it. The tower disappeared. The last thing she heard was Sabine shouting her name. Rapunzel woke in rain. She lay in a field she did not recognize. Her hair, though still long by anyone else's standards, barely reached below her waist. The magic was gone. Mother Varda was gone. The tower was gone. Sabine was gone. Rapunzel sat in the mud and cried until morning. Then, because there was no one left to tell her what to do, she stood. She began walking. The world was not what Varda had promised. It was worse in some ways. Rain soaked through clothing. Roads hurt her feet. People lied. Bread cost money. Money was difficult to acquire. One innkeeper attempted to cheat her. Rapunzel smiled despite herself. “Sabine warned me about you.” The innkeeper frowned. “Who?” “Never mind.” But the world was also better. She slept beneath trees. She watched sunrise without looking through glass. She drank from rivers. She learned to trade small embroidered ribbons for meals. A widow named Celeste taught her how to make soup. A farmer let her ride a horse and laughed kindly when she fell off. For the first time, Rapunzel chose where to turn at every crossroads. She hated that freedom and loved it simultaneously. Most of all, she searched. She asked everyone. “A woman named Sabine Arcel. Dark hair. Green coat. Archer.” Some had seen her. Some had not. One merchant said, “There was a woman matching that description in Harrow three weeks ago.” Rapunzel nearly knocked him over. “Which direction?” “East.” “Thank you.” She ran east. Sabine, meanwhile, searched for Rapunzel. She searched the forest. She searched villages. She searched every road within fifty miles. For weeks she found nothing. Then one morning a shepherd said, “Golden-haired woman?” Sabine grabbed his shoulders. “Yes.” “Tall? Pretty?” “Yes!” “Terrible rider?” Sabine froze. Then she laughed for the first time in nearly a month. “That is her.” “She went toward the old meadow road.” Sabine did not thank him. She was already running. Rapunzel saw Sabine first. A figure emerged through the wildflowers. Green coat. Burgundy sash. Dark curls. Rapunzel stopped breathing. Sabine stopped too. Neither moved. Then Sabine whispered, “Rapunzel.” Rapunzel ran. Sabine ran toward her. They collided with enough force that Sabine nearly fell backward. Rapunzel wrapped both arms around her neck. “You're alive.” “So are you.” “I thought—” “I know.” “I searched everywhere.” “So did I.” “You took too long.” Sabine laughed through tears. “You were difficult to find.” “I was in the world.” “The world is large.” “You could have mentioned that.” “I thought the maps implied it.” Rapunzel cried harder. Sabine kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her mouth. Rapunzel pulled back just enough to look at her. “My hair.” Sabine touched the shortened golden waves. “What about it?” “It is gone.” “Most of it.” “The magic too.” Sabine shrugged. “I wasn't in love with your hair.” Rapunzel stared at her. “You climbed seventy feet of it.” “That was transportation.” Rapunzel laughed and cried simultaneously. Sabine held her tighter. “Come with me.” Rapunzel closed her eyes. “I already told you yes.” They did go to Bellora. Sabine's friend did owe her money. Not quite as much as Sabine had implied. Rapunzel discovered this immediately. “You said enough.” “It depends on the definition.” “There is only one bed.” “A terrible tragedy.” “Sabine.” “Yes?” “You planned that.” “I categorically deny it.” Rapunzel smiled. “You are a dreadful liar.” “And yet you love me.” “Unfortunately.” They stayed three months. Rapunzel learned to ride properly. She became surprisingly good with a knife. She learned that wine was overrated and cinnamon was not. Then they traveled to Marent. The first time Rapunzel saw the sea, she stood perfectly still for almost ten minutes. Sabine eventually asked, “What do you think?” Rapunzel wiped tears from her face. “I think Varda was right about one thing.” Sabine stiffened. “What?” “The world is dangerous.” Sabine took her hand. “Yes.” Rapunzel looked toward the horizon. “But she was wrong about why.” Sabine waited. “The danger isn't that the world might hurt you.” Rapunzel squeezed her fingers. “The danger is that if you never enter it, you never find anything worth being hurt for.” Sabine kissed her temple. “That sounded suspiciously wise.” “I read many books.” “Ah.” They traveled for two more years. Eventually, they found a place overlooking a valley where mountains rose in the distance and waterfalls cut silver paths through the cliffs. There was an old stone house with a terrace covered in climbing roses. Rapunzel stood beside Sabine and stared at it. “Well?” Sabine asked. “It has doors.” “Several.” “Stairs?” “An unreasonable number.” “Windows?” “Everywhere.” Rapunzel nodded thoughtfully. “I like it.” They bought the house. Rapunzel planted lavender. Sabine adopted a cat without admitting that she had adopted a cat. The cat disagreed and slept on Sabine every night. Rapunzel's hair never regained its magic, although it grew long again because she liked it that way. Sometimes people came from nearby villages and asked whether the stories were true. “Were you really imprisoned in a tower?” “Yes.” “Did Sabine really climb your hair?” “Yes.” Sabine would usually interrupt. “It was extremely dangerous.” “You complained the entire way.” “I was making tactical observations.” “You said my hair was unreasonable.” “It was.” Children especially loved the story. Adults usually asked different questions. One evening a woman visiting from Bellora looked at Rapunzel and Sabine standing together on their terrace and said, “So Sabine rescued you.” Rapunzel considered this. Then she smiled. “No.” The visitor looked confused. “No?” Sabine leaned against the stone railing. “I told you she'd say that.” Rapunzel slipped an arm around her waist. “She found me.” Sabine kissed her cheek. “And Rapunzel escaped.” The visitor smiled. “Together?” Rapunzel looked toward the distant mountains, where the last sunlight had turned everything gold. “Eventually.” Sabine drew her closer. Rapunzel rested her head against Sabine's shoulder. After a moment she whispered, “Do you ever miss traveling?” Sabine considered the valley. “The road?” “Yes.” “Sometimes.” Rapunzel lifted her head. “We could go again.” “We could.” “Tomorrow?” Sabine smiled. “You haven't changed.” “I have changed enormously.” “You still decide things suddenly.” “That is because I spent twenty-six years being forbidden from deciding anything.” “A reasonable explanation.” Rapunzel kissed her. “So tomorrow?” Sabine looked toward the open door behind them. Then at Rapunzel. “Tomorrow.” “And perhaps north this time.” “I hear the roads are terrible.” “I know a woman who likes terrible roads.” “She sounds foolish.” “She climbed a tower using a stranger's hair.” Sabine laughed. “She was in love.” “After eleven minutes?” “Possibly twelve.” Rapunzel kissed her again. Behind them stood a home with open doors. Before them lay a world without walls. And between those two things stood two women who had learned that happily ever after was not a place where nothing difficult happened, nor a castle where no one could reach them, nor even a promise that love would never hurt. It was something far simpler. It was choosing. Every morning. Every road. Every kiss. Every tomorrow. Together. The End