“Her condition was this—that he could take the flower to the fair maiden and marry her, but their first daughter would have to be named after the witch.”
The children cringed and shook their head.
“Ewww...” one said. “Why would anyone want to name their child after an ugly witch?”
“Well you see,” Clarissa interrupted, “a long time ago, the witch had been a beautiful woman and many men had vied for her attention. But when they discovered she was a witch, they hated her. Over the years her heart hardened, and she built the rock wall to separate herself from the rest of the kingdom because she felt everyone had judged her harshly.”
“So did the man follow the witch’s command?” Charlotte asked, pulling away from her pillow and sitting up in bed.
Clarissa nodded. “Indeed, he did. He presented the fair maiden with the Rapunzel flower and they married. Their first child was a girl, and they named her after the witch.” She paused again, but not as long this time. “However, the story doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. The witch wanted more. Much more.”
The children’s eyes widened, but they didn’t ask questions this time.
“You see, for a few years, the witch had been watching the little girl from afar, and the witch wanted the girl for herself. So one day when the little girl was playing in her yard, the witch snatched her and took her to the large tower.”
Prickles of recollection ran over her arms and up her back. She tried shaking off the eerie sensation, but she couldn’t.
She continued before the children became restless again. “Nobody saw the witch take the girl, so when her parents noticed she was missing, they scoured the kingdom looking for her, but she couldn’t be found. Several days passed, and the search grew hopeless. But then one day, the man realized there was one place they hadn’t looked.”
“The witch’s tower!” a little boy shouted.
Clarissa laughed. “Exactly. The witch’s tower.” She rubbed her hands over her arms, hoping the unsettling awareness still within her would disappear. “The man decided he was going to sneak back into her yard and watch her. Two more days passed and he couldn’t see any trace of his daughter. But then one day he watched as the witch called up to the tower window, ‘Rapunzel, let down the rope so I can climb up.’”
One of the girls giggled. “They named the girl after the flower?”
“No, but this was what the witch called her, because the little girl reminded the witch of the lovely flower.”
The children nodded and the little boy asked, “Then what happened?”
“Just as the little girl lowered the rope out the window for the witch to climb, the man jumped out from his hiding spot and knocked the witch unconscious. He then climbed the rope, rescuing his daughter.”
They clapped and cheered, but Clarissa motioned her hand to calm them. “The story isn’t over yet.”
“It’s not?” one asked.
“No. You see, just as the man left the tower with his daughter, the witch became alert and attacked the man. She hit him with a large stick. Thankfully, the king was strong, so he fought her, and he eventually killed the witch.”
The children stood and cheered. Clarissa laughed, clapping her hands at their display. She loved their reaction. They always responded this way with her stories. Perhaps that was why she loved coming to the children’s ward so much. Their infectious laughter was the best kind of medicine.
“Princess?” one of the children asked. “What was the witch’s name?”
Clarissa shook her head. “I’ll have to save that question for another time. Perhaps we can make a game of it.”
Once again, the children shouted with excitement. She looked at Ryder. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he applauded. Her heart warmed to see the enjoyment etched in his expression. Just as she remembered, his eyes gleamed with happiness. She realized how hard it was to look at anything else when he was in the room.
As many times as she’d told that story over the years, she thought her memories would bring back the fear she once had of strangers. But that fear was no longer with her. Perhaps she hadn’t recalled how it hadreallyhappened word for word, but she’d only been six years old when the witch had kidnapped her, so she didn’t remember a lot. Why then, did these recurring dreams bring her such anxiety? The witch was dead. Clarissa was safe. Right?
Her father hated this story, and scolded her for telling it to the children. But she was happy to know he loved her enough to rescue her and destroy the witch, which of course was the moral of the story.
Of course, she couldn’t help but sigh knowing her father loved her mother so much that he risked his life by entering the witch’s territory to get the Rapunzel flower.
She leaned back in her chair. Perhaps that was the very reason she hadn’t found a man she’d consider marrying. She wanted a love like her parents had. She wanted a man who would risk his life to prove his love.
Could this be what fate planned for her? Was it now her quest to find the man who was the perfect hero...like her father?
Smiling, she nodded.Challenge accepted.She’d find the man who would fight a witch for her.
