Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I lie down carefully on my too-small bed. She’s not wrong—I’ve grown since the day it became mine. I don’t mind the softness of my body. I’ve learned to love my jiggly thighs and squishy stomach. But sometimes I wonder...
Would anyone find me beautiful?
Not that it matters.
“I’ll never leave this tower,” I whisper. “Never fall in love. Never be truly happy.”
No one answers. It’s just me and these walls. The roots. The same suffocating silence.
I absently reach for the pendant at my throat—a smooth oval of amethyst set in tarnished silver. It’s cool against my fingertips, calming in its familiarity. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.
Gothel told me once that it’s a protection charm. “Never take it off,” she said. “It keeps you safe from the dangers outside.”
And I haven’t. Not really. On the rare occasions I’ve tried—out of spite, to see what would happen—I’ve always found it back around my neck by morning as if I never removed it at all.
As if it doesn’t want to leave me.
I frown, running my thumb over the gemstone. It thrums faintly beneath my skin, like a second heartbeat. I used to think that was reassuring. Now… I’m not so sure. If the necklace is meant to protect me, why does it sometimes feel so heavy, like the weight of the chain weighs me down?
I sigh and close my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me again. I sleep too much. Always have. I used to think it was because I was lonely. Depressed. Waiting.
But lately, even when I want to stay awake, my body betrays me. I’m just so… tired.
A tear slips down my cheek, then another. My hair stirs, pulsing with eerie magic as if it somehow thrives off my sadness.
I sigh, pushing the fanciful thought aside. Loneliness plays tricks on my mind.
I try to remind myself why Dame Gothel says I’m here. That I’d be in danger outside. But I’ve always wondered. Why can’t I remember anything from before the tower? If the world is so dangerous, why keep me in the dark? Why trap me here like a secret?
Sleep comes without my permission. It always does. My only escape.
In the dream, I’m bathed in sunlight. I relish its warmth on my skin. And then—hands. Big hands. One at my back, and one gripping my hip, pulling me against a tall, muscular body.
“Rapunzel,” he breathes into my ear.
I shiver. My breath catches as his hands roam my body, squeezing my bottom and cupping my breasts. A different kind of heat surges through me, lighting up nerve endings and raising goosebumps on my skin. My nipples tighten and my knees weaken as heat blooms between my thighs.
I turn to him, but the sun blinds me. I can’t see his face, but I know he sees me. Wants me. Not despite my softness, but because of it.
“Rapunzel,” he growls, “you are mine.”
My heart races. “And you are mine,” I whisper, knowing in my bones that it’s true. This man is mine, and I am his.
He lifts me. We’re flying. Escaping. At last, I’m free from the tower, soaring into the azure skies.
But then…
Pain tears through me. My hair—the roots. They’re pulling me back.
“Stop!” I scream.
Suddenly, I’m on the ground, scissors in my hand, hacking at my hair. But every cut burns. Every strand bleeds.
My savior backs away, stricken.
“No, please,” I cry. “Don’t go. I just need to figure it out. Please. Don’t leave me.”
But he does. And the sunlight dies with him.
Chapter 2
Brannock
“How in the ever-loving abyss do I get out of this gods-damned forest?” I mutter, swatting at a bramble that has the audacity to smack me full across the face. Thorns rake angry welts down my arms, tug at my clothes, and tangle around my legs like the forest is trying to keep me here. My shirt snags—again—and I growl, ripping it free.
I shoulder my way through another thicket, branches clawing at me, sweat plastering the rough linen of my prison-issued shirt to my back. When I finally burst into a clearing, I gasp like a man surfacing from deep water.
The relief is short-lived.
The clearing is ringed by trees so tall and tightly packed that their branches weave together into a suffocating canopy. Only a thin, reluctant slice of night sky peeks through, like the moon is afraid to look me in the eye. Off to the left, frogs croak in rhythmic chorus. A pond? Or—if the gods are feeling generous—a river. Clean, cold water.
I’d trade what’s left of my dignity for a drink right now.
I’ve been stumbling around for hours. Maybe longer. All I know is that it was enough time to come apart at the seams. Time doesn’t behave normally when you’ve spent gods-know-how-long in a magical prison built on silence and nothingness. No sun. No moon. Only the darkness and the weight of your own mind, whispering things you’d rather not hear.