Rapunzel | [Prince Stefan X Reader] ✓

two

Hobie's voice trembled slightly as he whispered, "Oh, now, that's downright spooky!" The darkness of the secret basement seemed to swallow all light, casting an eerie gloom over the kitchen. Penelope, however, was undaunted, her purple scales glinting with confidence. "What, you don't think I got moves?" she asked, her voice dripping with sass. "Cause I got moves." Hobie raised an eyebrow, his whiskers twitching with amusement. "Turn around, purple girl," he teased.

Penelope obliged, her tail swishing behind her. "Well, scratch my scales..." she muttered, her large eyes fixed on the opening.

(Y/N), meanwhile, stood transfixed, her gaze drawn to the darkness below. "I wonder where it goes," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. Hobie's ears perked up, his expression skeptical. "Hello, what about Gothel's tea?" he reminded, but (Y/N) was undeterred.

"We still have a few minutes," she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come on. Something great could be down here." With that, she descended into the unknown, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Hobie and Penelope exchanged hesitant glances. "Oh, yeah, sure, looks very inviting," Hobie muttered, his sarcasm lost on Penelope.

"Eh... you don't think there are spiders down there?" Penelope asked, her voice tinged with unease. "Cause I'm not too fond of spiders...or beetles... or-or snakes. I don't like them either."

Hobie rolled his eyes, his expression wry. "You're worried about bugs and snakes? What about what Gothel would do to us if she finds out we were down there?" Penelope's determined gaze met his, and she walked him forward, urging him down the stairs.

Hobie sighed, his resignation palpable. "Oh, sure. Let's go down anyway." He whispered under his breath, "No one ever listens to the rabbit." With a final glance at the kitchen above, he followed (Y/N) and Penelope into the unknown, the darkness swallowing them whole.

As they descended deeper into the secret basement, the air grew thick with dust and the scent of aged paper. Cobwebs clung to the stone walls, shimmering like ghostly fingers in the faint light. The trio's footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor, leading them to a hidden room that seemed frozen in time.

The room was a treasure trove of forgotten memories, filled with boxes stacked haphazardly, their wooden slats worn and weathered. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors hung on the walls, their eyes seeming to watch the intruders with disapproval. Letters, yellowed with age, spilled from overflowing trunks, their seals broken, their secrets scattered. Every surface was blanketed with a thick layer of dust, as if the room had been left undisturbed for decades.

(Y/N) wandered through the room, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings on an antique dresser, her touch leaving faint trails in the light brown dust. Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she explored each new discovery. Hobie, meanwhile, couldn't resist the temptation to investigate every nook and cranny. He touched things he shouldn't, opening crates and examining their contents with unbridled curiosity.

Penelope, however, moved with hesitation, her scales fluttering with unease. She flinched every time she came across a critter or a scurrying mouse, her tail and nose twitching like a metronome. "Oh, dear," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the creaking of the old wooden boxes. Despite her trepidation, she continued to follow (Y/N) and Hobie, her widened eyes scanning the room for potential dangers.

"Oh, deaaar!"

"Oi, shut it will you?"

As they explored, the silence was punctuated by the creaking of wooden slats, the rustling of paper, and the faint scurrying of hidden creatures. The room seemed to whisper secrets to them, its dusty relics holding tales of a long-forgotten past. (Y/N)'s fingers danced across a vintage music box, its lid opening to reveal a delicate ballerina twirling to a forgotten melody. Hobie uncovered a stack of old books, their leather bindings cracked and worn. Penelope, meanwhile, discovered a faded tapestry, its threads unraveling like the invisible threads of a forgotten memory.