Good God, her leg is lovely.
Her pink tunic rode way up when she swung the limb out the window. I want to tell her to yank the material back in place, but the suggestion got lost on its way from my brain to my mouth. And although I’m afraid she’ll tumble to her death, I can’t help but admire her tiny bare foot before I drag my gaze along to her thigh.
Ogling her has my body reacting in a rather...uncomfortable...way. “Heck no, it’s not funny. Especially not if I’m the one who has to scrape your brains off the grass.”
I sound ridiculous, but I’m all sorts of flustered because of her damnable leg.
“Trust me, Wren, it’s fine.” Her laugh falls on me, and I curse the distance that separates us. “You sound like an old biddy.”
“Oh yeah? Well… Well, you’re acting like a brat,” I counter, hoping my authoritative tone disguises my stumbling retort.
Rapunzel laughs louder, the sound delightful.
During one of my visits, she explained how the witch’s curse on Blithe is strongest here, where she cast the spell that infects the forest. The ground is alive with Sybil’s power, and when I grab a handful of dirt and mash it in my hands, I wish it were she I was crushing. After all, she’s why Rapunzel is a prisoner. Not a day goes by when I’m not tempted to tell my parents about my mysterious friend, but whenever I try, I hear Rapunzel’s voice in my head, begging me to keep silent.
“Would you be terribly sad if I fell?”
What an awful question. “Aye, Zee, I would.” I push off the ground, where I’ve been sitting for the last hour. “Of course I would.”
I would be devastated.
She swipes wisps of hair away from her face. “I’m sorry. Seems I’m full of melancholy questions this morning.”
In the year I’ve known her, Rapunzel hasn’t shown herself to be a cheerful person. Who would blame her for her melancholy? She’s spent her life locked in this tower. Her feet have touched nothing but the stone of her floor. She’s never felt the wind in her hair unless it’s filtered through the single window where she views the world day after lonesome day.
And that world is restricted to the same landscape, changed only by the passing seasons, for the past thirteen years.
Besides Sybil, who took her from her family when Rapunzel was an infant, I’m the only other person she knows—and the witch is rarely here. I can’t imagine how heavy the solitude must weigh on her.
The first—and only—time I asked about her family and why she was in the tower, Rapunzel panicked. She demanded I leave and never return. She even threatened to tell Sybil I visit her and warned me the witch would wipe this place from my mind. Erase Rapunzel from my memory. The very idea horrified me.
So, I promised.
I swore on my life and hoped I would die if I ever told a soul about her or this grim tower where she’s forced to live.
Rapunzel is my cherished secret.
We’re now in this together.
“What other melancholy questions have you asked?”
Finally, Rapunzel drags her leg inside and smooths her hands over the front of her tunic. I breathe easier with both of her feet on solid ground. She flips the braid over her shoulder. Shorter brown wisps, I’ve noticed, interlace with the much longer golden waves. As with everything else, I swallow the question of why the length and color difference lest I lose her.
“It’s nothing, Wren, truly. Just silly ponderings I had no business asking.”
“If it’s nothing, share it with me,” I dare to press.
She shrugs her slender shoulders and directs her face toward the sky. Framed in the large window with the sun hitting her just so, Rapunzel is a work of art. “I thought I discovered a way to rid myself of the reason I’m forced to stay hidden.” She looks back at me, her sad smile heartbreaking. “Unfortunately, I was mistaken.”
Suddenly, I’m ashamed of my freedom. “I’m sorry, Rapunzel.”
“It’s for the best.”
“Best for everyone but you,” I argue.
She doesn’t disagree. “It’s my burden to bear.”
A burden much too heavy for her to carry alone. “What can I do to make you happy?”
