Chapter 1
Hi, my lovely readers! A quick note to say Amárrame, a song by Mon Laferte, was the inspiration for this, and why I wrote a short story about Rapunzel. Even if you don’t speak Spanish, give it a listen; you might be surprised and find it enjoyable.
A thick mist crept through the small, glassless window as it had every morning for the past twelve years. Rapunzel opened her eyes, pushing the long strands of runaway hair from her face, and stretched like a graceful cat. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she let the air out through her parted, dry lips.
The minutes ticked, and she searched for newness, hoping to uncover unheard sounds. Hungry, she listened, yet there were none. Birds never chirped, but the wind howled. The air smelled stale, and there was no sun. Reality set in, and she lay motionless with nothing to look forward to.
She would be happy to get a day like today if her life were different. If she were someone else. Outside of the wind, it was eerily silent. Her heart sank, and once again, Rapunzel realized she wasn’t having a nightmare but living her life. This was her life, one of loneliness, abandonment, and torture.
She’d been in love once, at sixteen. At the time, she smiled at thoughts of what her future could be. She had been full of hopes and dreams. She recalled them talking about running away and getting married one day.
It had been a day like many before it. Where dawn turned to morning, morning turned to noon, and noon turned to twilight. When dusk fell, she would tiptoe to the double-hung window in her bedroom and let her lover in. Lovingly, they kissed and laughed, unable to keep their hands off one another. Removing their garments, one piece at a time, and leaving them puddled on the floor.
They would rise with the sun. He'd take her face in his hands and kiss every inch of it, pressing his lips over her eyes, nose, and mouth before climbing out of the bedroom window.
One forenoon in particular, the town’s guards waited outside her home to apprehend her lover as he sneaked out the window. The sheriff, who was a vile, horny man, desired her as his bride and when he heard she had a suitor, he set forth a horrendous plan.
Jealous of their love, he stealthily staked her house for months to confirm the rumors. Between the silk threads of darkness, he waited outside her home, camouflaged by the night sky.
Peeping through the window, he saw the young lovers. Their bodies entangled in lust. He envied how carefree and happy they were. It enraged him. Hungrily, he watched them ardently consume one another and pleasured himself. Unsatisfied, he came back every night to feed his wicked soul.
The sheriff’s desire grew deep. Wanting her for himself, he strategized a sinister plan to rid himself of her lover. He summoned them to a grand tribunal in which they were found guilty of fornication.
As part of her punishment, her lover was condemned to death, and she must witness and watch his hanging until he died.
On that day, her ghost-like self faced the gallows, but she refused to open her eyes. She also refused to cry. Not because of her lover; she was shredded inside for him, but to deprive the sheriff of the satisfaction of her pain.
Hands cuffed and feet shackled, guards armed with fierce-looking swords took her to face the depraved man one last time. With great arrogance and a sense of entitlement, the sheriff faced her. From his throne, his steel gaze focused on her natural beauty. His body hungered for hers, and it was visible above his garb.
Shameless, the sheriff felt no guilt for what he had done. Through veiled eyes, he gawked down at her, and he knew she was in hell. A dark, bottomless abyss she would not be able to claw out of. Nauseated, Rapunzel took a few deep, shaky breaths, hoping the feelings would pass.
With an air of grandeur, the sheriff circled her a few times, minimizing her existence. His fingers slithered across her shoulders while he pulled and tore her garment. He ogled her body and snickered, making her feel small and unworthy. Her breathing hitched as she covered an exposed breast, and her heart thumped frantically. The room spiraled.
“I will fully pardon you if you accept my hand in marriage.” His voice was a notch too high for anyone’s liking, yet she had no option but to listen.
Turning, the mad sheriff stood millimeters from her face. His hand clamped to her jaw, holding her head steady. His index finger and thumb crushed her chin. She squirmed, but the grasp of his fingers applied more pressure. His lips crashed on hers, bumping his lips with her teeth, drawing blood from the impact. His tongue licked at her mouth. His foul breath revolted her, provoking the taste of bile to come up her throat.
With white, pressed lips, her chest heaved with each struggling breath. She quivered. The trembling of her body caused her to jerk, hitting her head on the marble tiles.
“NO!” Violently, Rapunzel swayed her head and vomited on his feet.
Enraged and considering it a punishable offense, his hand crossed her face with great force, leaving a tinge of red on her left cheek. Then he sentenced her to a life of solitude and imprisonment in a secluded tower.
"When you change your mind, I might consider taking you as a courtesan,” he smirked sheepishly. “Until then, you can replay and suffer your lover’s death alone, until the day you die!”
Erased from history, Rapunzel would never love, be seen, or be loved ever again. As the years passed, days became more difficult to live.
Immersed in scorn, she dreamed of retribution. Revenge on an old, hateful piece-of-shit of a man, who, for an instant, believed his opinion was above what she desired. No man should have that right. No person should consider themselves superior to another.
She had no idea how, but someday, it would come to be.
At first, the sheriff saw her once a month. He was convinced she wouldn’t be able to take the isolation, and she'd fall into his arms, but Rapunzel consistently refused him. Six months passed, and the sheriff visited her once every three months. The following year, he showed up scarcely twice.
“You will have me!” he said, towering above her with a raised fist.
Launching forward, he pinned her body to the floor. Squirming, she flared her arms and kicked her legs hysterically. His hands roamed her body, touching her intimately through the fabric of her dress, pulling it up. Rapunzel kicked him between the legs, and an agonizing scream pushed through his lungs.
Lunging towards him, she shoved her fingers into his eye sockets, pressing with force. The Sheriff’s vision blurred, and blood squirted out of both of them, drenching her clothes.
He shrieked, and so did she. Like a lunatic. A tigress. A beast.
Bleeding, he recoiled. His servants helped him off the tower, and Rapunzel knew she would be punished after such a brazen offense. Plausibly, lashed, and hung.
The hours became days. The days became weeks, and the weeks became months until Cirilla, her caretaker, came calling. With dignified braveness, she gazed out the window and into full view. Cirilla motioned for Rapunzel to drop her hair, so she did as she was told, expecting the worst.
Cirilla said that after what happened, the sheriff lost an eye. For days, he debated whether he should kill Rapunzel or let her live. After much pondering, he understood Rapunzel was already suffering a delectable punishment he was proud of and satisfied with. It caused him great pleasure to deny her everything he thought to be valuable. He would never grace her with his presence, and except for Cirilla, no one would contact her.
Once a year, on her birthday, Cirilla was supposed to be taunted with a new, magnificent dress. A dress she could have and wear, but no one would see. A dress to add to her collection and a torturous remembrance of her insane reality. A reminder of the outside world.
Cirilla, although the sheriff’s slave, was a good woman. She liked the girl. In her eyes, she’d done nothing wrong but love and defend herself when an abusive man tried to take advantage of her. She would have done the same. At least, she would have tried. She respected that Rapunzel would rather die than be abused.
“I can’t tie a basket of food to your hair and leave without a word. I refuse to do that to you.” Cirilla's eyes peered honestly into hers.
“I will shout, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. This is how you will know it is me or that I have sent someone. Unless the person below says these words, you shall not show your face through the window, let alone drop your hair. No one can ever know I climb up to see you. Do you understand me?" She raised a brow.
Rapunzel relaxed. Waiting to know her fate had been excruciating and difficult. Marrying or being touched by the sheriff was a far worse punishment than anything he could bestow on her. Death was better than a life with him, she concluded. Isolation was not as bad as it seemed.
There wasn’t a day she did not think about her dead lover. Every day, she cried. Every day, she prayed for revenge.
Reminded it was her birthday, Rapunzel rubbed her eyes and groaned. Cirilla would soon arrive with an expensive gown and amazing, sugary treats she stored inside a large mocuck, placed inside a basket, and tied to her hair. Rapunzel would lift it by looping it to a metal hook outside her window and then pulling it through.
With a sigh, she retrieved for an aromatic bath, brushed her hair until it lustered, and stained her lips crimson. Lastly, she draped the gown she’d been gifted the year before over her body and waited.
