Rapunzel's Sister (Rewrite) • Prince Jack x Oc

011 | Resolution

| 011 : Resolution

"M-Mother?"

The bedroom fell into a thick, almost suffocating silence—quiet enough for someone to hear a single pin drop to the floor. Azazel froze, every muscle in her body going rigid, as though she were a cornered animal unsure whether to run or play dead. Her throat tightened painfully, dry as a desert, and her hands—clutching the worn leather journal—trembled uncontrollably.

Her mother stood by the door, holding a tray with a warm teapot filled with tea and biscuits. Her eyes darted around the room, desperate for something to focus on, looking for something to distract her mother with. What should she do? Apologize? Hide the journal beneath the pillows and pretend she hadn’t read through it? Lash out and yell at her mother for walking in unannounced? Bawl like a child who had been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar? Deny everything despite the obvious truth lying on her lap? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think.

Her thoughts were crashing into each other like waves during a storm. Her thought process became a disaster, all of it overwhelming her as her heart beat wildly in her chest, so loud she swore her mother could hear it.

The emotions inside her whirled chaotically—shame, anger, confusion, fear—until they became indistinguishable from each other. Her mother took a slow step forward, eyes calm, face unreadable. Azazel flinched involuntarily, pulling the journal closer to her chest as though it could shield her from what was coming.

Her mother said nothing at first. She simply placed the porcelain tray of tea and warm, neatly arranged biscuits on the bed, the soft clink of china against linen somehow becoming the loudest sound in the world. Then, quietly, she lowered herself onto her knees in front of her daughter, adjusting her nightgown, her movements deliberate and delicate.

"What have you got there, dear? My journal?" her voice was gentle, almost too calm, and that frightened Azazel more than if she had shouted.

Azazel couldn’t speak. Her throat was sealed shut with dread. Her eyes dropped to her lap, shame crawling up her neck like fire. She felt small. Smaller than ever. Like a child again, scolded for not listening or running in the palace halls. But this was different. This felt heavier.

Her mother reached out but did not touch her, as if waiting for permission. "Is everything alright, dear? Look at me, please."

Azazel hesitated, then slowly, with effort, lifted her head to meet her mother’s gaze. To her surprise, it wasn’t anger that greeted her—it was concern. Real concern. There was no fury in those eyes, no disappointment. Only genuine concern.

That almost broke her.

She looked away quickly, not able to withstand it, and curled in on herself, hugging her knees close. Her voice came out in a whisper, cracked and raw.

"Everything’s... not—fine, Mother," she admitted. Her voice wavered, and the weight of those words alone felt like a dam breaking. Her mother shifted closer to Azazel "Then talk to me,” she said to her softly. "Please. Let me try, just once, to be the kind of mother you need right now."

Azazel clenched her eyes shut, tears beginning to gather at the corners. For the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was scared of her mother—or of the way her walls might finally come crashing down if she dared to let her in. She opened her mouth, her lips quivering, scared of what her mother may think of her as she tried to formulate the words she wanted to say to her mother.

She closed her mouth, looking at her mother who gestured for her to go on, waiting patiently for her to speak her mind and confess the troubles she's been having. She pouted, her eyes going towards the floor as she began to speak.