My Name is Rapunzel(19)

I turned the brush over in my hand and inspected the wood grains. From the outside it looked completely normal, just like any other cursed thing, just like me, but I knew the truth. I knew that Gretta had infused magical powers into that brush so I’d be forced to use it. It held a power I couldn’t explain.

I wish I had the guts to defy her silent demands.

So, braids were the sole choice for me as the only way I could keep the seeming miles of tresses manageable and out of my way. I had to do something with it if I wanted to have any semblance of freedom and ability to move throughout my day.

I wondered how much control I really had. If Gretta really wanted to hinder me, would I be able to stop her from working her will? For now she let me believe I had power over myself. I could only hope it wasn’t an illusion—or at least not a complete illusion. But I wasn’t sure.

The golden sunshine, peeking through the curtains, lured me to the window, urging me to let it in. How could I resist? I needed the fresh air to fill my lungs. I needed to try to forget that awful nightmare.

I released the center latch then pushed on the wooden frames, forcing the windows to swing outward. I lifted my face to the sky and let the sun warm my skin. I squinted then closed my eyes as I took a deep breath of morning air and held it, just for a moment. The lush valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains in the distance was about the only thing that eased my mind and helped me through each day. Could there be a more beautiful view in all the world?

The birds whistled a new morning tune and the stream trickled nearby. It had the properties of being a lovely new day, but deep inside, I knew the nightmare would never truly go away. This was only a glimmer of light in a cave of darkness—not nearly enough room to breathe easy.

“Good morning, Paradise Valley,” I whispered into the breeze. I didn’t want to disrupt the morning melody that greeted me as it did each day. I always hoped for a response, a connection with the life around me, but none ever came. The closest I got to a friend was the little squirrel that used to come every afternoon to perch on the windowsill and beg for nuts. It had been many weeks since he’d last visited. He must have died. Lucky little fellow.

Trying to mimic the chirping birds, I whistled an offbeat tune as I opened the armoire doors and tried not to catch my reflection in the inside mirror. I failed as my gaze traveled to my face. I scrunched my nose and sighed, running my fingers over a few loose strands of hair.

If I started right away, I could have it washed and rinsed within two hours. With the help of a hairdryer I could have it brushed and dried before noon. Tighter plaits on each side before joining them together into the long main braid, then looping it up near my shoulders, then fastening it together with a long ribbon should do the trick. My arms would be sore for a full week until I had to do it again. Eh. Tomorrow could be a hair day. After all, what did it matter?

“I really do need to get dressed.” It was good to hear a friendly voice, even if it belonged to me.

A delicate once-white dress hanging on the opposite door caught my attention. It always looked so perfect hanging there, waiting. Hopeful. It didn't matter how old it got, it was still fashionable, even if it was a bit yellowed. It might not have graced the cover of one of today’s magazines, but it was mine. My fingers trailed over the silky fabric and lingered on the delicate lace. I squeezed my eyes closed, but not before a single tear escaped. It wasn't the dress's fault.

No, the dress was meant to be the beginning of a wonderful new life—a promise. It was meant to be my wedding dress, a symbol of my undying love for Henry. Now it served as a painful reminder of a once happy life. A life I could have had with Henry.

A life that was stolen from me.

Soon it would be time to press it and freshen it up for my birthday tradition. This year it would be during the full moon.

What would have happened if I had managed to run away that day? Would we have escaped with both our lives? I shouldn't have tortured myself about it, but I did. Constantly. “It should have been me,” I whispered, still touching the fabric. “It should have been me. Not Henry.” It was my fault. Biting my lower lip, I recited the mantra I’d been saying for years, but it would never alter anything. I couldn’t change the past.

I'd heard people say they wouldn't change one day in their lives. I felt a bit differently. If I had a chance to change one day, just one, I would. I’d give anything for that opportunity. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but I brushed them away in a fury. It was a new day and I would not cry.

I lifted the dress and laid it across my body, draping the sleeves down my arms to my wrists. Maybe this was the year. Maybe it was time to put a stop to the annual madness of memory. I gazed down toward my feet, the lacy train pooling on the floor behind me. How many years would this go on?