Page 1 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
Chapter 1
Rapunzel
I don’t remember anything from before the tower. Not a name. Not a face. Just… silence. This place is all I’ve ever known. No stairs. No door. Just a single window that opens onto Fable Forest.
I’ve always been here alone, with roots in my hair and stone walls all around me. Though lately, it feels less like they’re part of me and more like they’re... watching. Listening.
My “home” is little more than a cell—a small table, a single chair, and a narrow bed that my feet dangle from when I lie down. The stone floor is always cold, even in summer, and the air smells faintly of mildew. I have a few meager comforts: a mirror fixed to one wall, a cramped bathroom with a toilet and shallow bath, and a cookstove that doubles as a heat source in the winter.
I lean against the windowsill, gazing at the trees beyond. The smells of pine and distant rain tease my nostrils like freedom I can’t touch. I wish I had someone to talk to. To laugh with. To touch.
Besides Dame Gothel, that is. And she’s been gone for a week.
What’s keeping her?
As if summoned by the very thought, her voice rings up from below.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”
My hair responds instinctively. It stretches down from the window, golden and glowing, braiding itself into something strong enough to hoist a full-grown woman up the stone face of the tower.
And that’s exactly what Dame Gothel does.
“It’s about time,” I mutter as her smug face appears over the windowsill. Wart-speckled nose. Green lips. Grayish skin. She may be a witch, but she certainly doesn’t waste magic on appearances.
“It’s only been a week, dearie,” she croons, her voice as raspy as ever. “Besides, you could stand to step away from the cake now and then.”
I cross my arms tightly over my full breasts. Anger churns in my stomach. Dame Gothel always finds some way to mention the extra weight I carry. It doesn’t matter how much or little I eat, my body retains its abundant curves. Gothel delights in prodding me with her little barbs when she brings me food or stops by to check I haven’t escaped—as if I could. And yes, I’ve tried. Once, I braided my hair into a ladder. Got halfway down before a root yanked me back into the tower upside down, flashing my knickers to every woodland creature with a view. Pretty sure the squirrels are still talking about it.
“What do you expect?” I snap. “I can’t exactly take up jogging in here. Should I do laps around the bed? Jumping jacks in the fourfeet of space between the stove and the bathroom? Maybe some hair pull-ups on the rafters?”
She smiles that awful little smile. “You need to try something. I swear your face is rounder than last time. As your guardian, I’m only thinking of your health.”
I sit down hard on the chair, jaw tight. “Then maybe you could start thinking of my mental health and allow me to go outside for fifteen minutes.”
“No,” she says sharply, already hauling up a rope with a basket tied at the end—my weekly delivery. Itthunksagainst the window ledge. “You know why. The world would destroy you. Swallow you whole.”
I roll my eyes hard enough to give myself a headache. If anything is devouring me, it’s this tower. Slowly. One strand of magic-laced hair at a time.
I glance down at the golden locks pooled around me. They snake across the floor and disappear into the roots that burrow through the tower like veins. I don’t brush it anymore. What’s the point? I don’t wear it for beauty. It’s a leash, fused to living roots that twist through the floor and walls. The curse that keeps me contained.
“Here,” Dame Gothel says, shoving the basket into my arms. “And please try to make it last longer than a week.”
I set the basket aside, uninterested.
“Did you bring any new books?” I ask, though I already know the answer. I spend my days staring out of the window, singing the few songs I can remember, and waiting for something—anything—to happen. A book about the mating habits of squirrels would be welcome at this point.
“Forgot,” she grunts, swinging one leg over the windowsill. “Maybe next time.”
Which means probably not.
“You don’t understand how boring it is,” I mutter. “That’s probably why I have those?—”
I stop myself too late.
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and suspicious. “Those what, Rapunzel?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just daydreams. Silly ones.”
