Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Chapter One

TRIGGER WARNING- SUICIDE/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

Dame Gothel half strutted, half hobbled into my small room, perched on top of a high tower. I reeked of suicide and the Dame's haggardly perfume, and as she stepped towards me, her small nose crinkled in disgust. Her nimble fingers combed through my greasy, tear-soaked, honey hair. Her own choppy, bright orange hair framed her young, pretty face, her icy blue eyes revealing how long she had been tormenting for. I sat in cold silence heavy with the will of death as she caressed my troubled yet pretty face with a frigid finger.

'You know, girl, there's a bucket of water there for a reason. I don't expect you to walk around looking like this.'

Not like I'm going anywhere, I thought spitefully. Dame Gothel shot me a youthful smile, thick with poison, as her twelve-year-old face morphed into her true form: a tall, thin old woman with puss-filled wounds shrouding her face, wiry auburn hair streaked with grey, skeletal fingers sporting thick, yellow, chipped nails, almost like claws. I should have been used to this. Yes, I had lived with the witch all my life, but I still shuddered whenever she stuck her pimply face anywhere near mine. The moon, on this awful night, refused to show its face, and the only light in the cold darkness was a small candle on the table at which I was sitting. Under the wooden dining table, I stared at my wrists, which were coated in blood. My own blood. Deep, red, angry cuts, lacing my arms and neck, making me flinch where the Dame's rotten fingernails teased my scars. She clicked her tongue, the clink of the broken, bloodied mirror on the floor ringing in my ears.

'Girl! Listen! Clean those cuts and hair. I expect you washed and clothed one I return. And do not break anything else. I've already had to get rid of vases, crockery, even the sink, which is just brilliant. You keep making a mess, I make you clean twice as much.'

I hoped that the next time I smashed something, I wouldn't be around to clean. I'd be in heaven, or hell, or wherever suicides went once their job was done. Dame Gothel plastered my wounds, then stormed down, out of the tower and out of the vast property she owned, probably to find someone to eat or torture. I stood shakily, what little blood I had left draining from my head, and staggered over to the small window, the only window in the whole tower. No doors. No escape. Unless jumping fifteen meters to the floor counted. I leaned on the rough brick wall, sighing. The world was so beautiful. The cold night wind tousled my long, caramel-coloured hair, gentle against my face that was rubbed raw from crying. Crickets chirped a ballad with the sparrows in the forest outside. But I knew that I would never make it out of this tower. I shifted my weight on the brick, then clambered up onto the windowsill, holding my arms out either side of me. I inhaled the fresh, beautiful air, filling my lungs fully. I closed my eyes and sang.

'Sing us a song of the century,
That's louder than bombs and eternity.
The era of static and contraband,
That's leading us into the promised land.
Tell us a story that's by candlelight,
Waging a war and losing the fight. 

They're playing the song of the century, 
Of panic and promise and prosperity. 
Tell me a story into that goodnight, 
Sing us a song for me.'

Every animal in the woods paused. Silence wracked my lonely, lonely heart. Then, there was a voice, cutting through the cold, milky shadows and making me jump.

'What is a beautiful young gem like you doing up in that tower?'

The voice was sweet and thick, like caramel, the words gracefully dancing upon the wind. My eyes widened to hear someone other than the witch that possessed me, or my own shaky screams of pain. I looked down from my perch on the windowsill.

'Who...?'

I locked eyes with the man standing at the bottom of the tower. He was handsome, built strong and tall, with what used to be neat scruff of brown hair making a halo around an elegant face. He had a coil of rope around his broad shoulder, and a mischievous grin on his face, like that of a thief.

'What are you doing here?'

'I was wondering the same thing about you, Goldilocks. I was here to raid this tower, and then I heard you sing. So, how did you end up here?'

I paused. I had asked the Dame many times where I had come from, and each time she would be set more tasks as punishment. All I could remember before the tower was a woman, a very motherly figure, humming me a song. The song, the only one I knew. 

'I... I don't know. I've been trapped here since I was born.'

The man was silent. Then, he smiled slyly.

'How about I help you escape, then?'

A/N: Full credits to lovely Green Day who wrote the song that was mentioned in here. Go check it out, it's called 'Song of The Century' and it hits. I 100% DO NOT own that song and take zero credit.