"Alex!" came the faint voice of her father from far below her. "Alex, get down from there right now!"
She pressed herself more discreetly into the crook of the tree branch, praying they wouldn't see her. Even at the ripe old age of four, the irritation in her father's voice was something she was very used to.
"I know you're hiding up here," she heard him say. "I'm going to give you to the count of three to come down..."
"Ben, she's a toddler, how do you expect her to have climbed that high?"
She pressed her grubby fist to her mouth to keep from giggling, glancing up to find she was only a few branches away from the treetop. Just a little bit more and she'd be able to see the whole island.
"One..."
Ignoring him, the little girl pressed her hands against the broad trunk for balance, reaching for the sturdiest looking tree limb. She grabbed it and tried to swing herself up, legs kicking around in the air.
"Two," he continued, far below her dangling feet. "Alex, I hope you understand how upset your behavior is making me feel right now..."
The pang of guilt was immediate, like a fist to the chest and her splintery hands slipped. With a shriek, she thwacked onto the branch below her and went tumbling down, the earth rushing up to meet her. She hit the muddy ground hard and her face crumpled up into tears. Letting out a howl, she allowed herself to be bundled up into the familiar arms of her father.
"That's a broken leg," said another voice she recognized as Mr Danny's. "Lucky it rained, mighta been worse..."
"I can't believe she climbed that high," she heard Mr Tom remark with wonder. He ruffled her hair affectionately. "You're a silly little monkey, arentcha?
Her father turned her away from the man's touch and began striding toward's the village without a word.
"Wanna see the islaaaand!" she wailed, beating her little fists at his shoulders. "Daddy led go! Put down! Now!"
He didn't reply. She knew when he didn't talk, that meant she was in super big trouble. Wriggling madly, she heard her father make an annoyed sound as she managed to break free and fall to the ground. Right on her broken leg.
The knifelike pain shot through her entire body. Before she knew it, the world was turning black around her, consciousness slipping away like a loose thread. She thumped over in the mud in a dead faint.
She awoke in her room with her leg in a cast and Mr Ethan on one side of the bed, smiling down at her, her father on the other side, face creased with worry.
"That was quite a fall you had there, kiddo," the island doctor said; "but don't worry, we've fixed you all up good and new now."
With a frown she pulled the sheets over her head, sulking. Her father said some terse parting words and Mr Ethan let himself out. The little girl sniffed, burrowing herself more firmly under her blankets.
"Alex?"
"Go 'way!" she shrieked back, the sound muffled. "You're mean, stinky frog man!"
He chose to ignore this, going over to her bookcase.
"I'd like to read you a story Alex," he said as he pulled up a chair at her bedside.
"No story!" she shot back. "Don't want story! Go 'way!"
"I'm going to read it whether you want to or not," he calmly replied. "So there's no use complaining."
Making a frustrated noise, she sat up, hair a mess around her head. He had put his glasses on, the faded old book of fairytales open in his lap.
"Read Frog Princess," she said suddenly, face alight with mischief.
"Why's that? Because I'm a frog?" he replied, completely deadpan. The little girl burst into giggles
"Frog man!" she said, pulling her blankets up under her eyes.
"I assure you Alex, I've been called much worse then that in my life," was his only reply, pushing his glasses up his nose as he flicked through the yellowed pages. "I'm going to be read you Little Red Riding Hood."
"Don't care," she replied, pulling her blanket over her head again. "Not listening."
"Once upon a time," he began regardless. "There was a girl who lived on the edge of the forest with her father and the rest of her village. Because of the long red hood she wore, she was named Little Red Riding Hood..."
She squirmed, unable to help herself from being drawn in. Her father had the perfect storytelling voice, despite it's drawling monotony – he had a way of capturing people's attention with just a few words.
"Little Red Riding Hood's father told her to stay out of the forest at all costs. However, Little Red Riding Hood was a disobedient child and didn't care for the worry she would inflict on her father when she went out exploring against his wishes."
That squirming, clenching feeling was growing in the middle of her chest again...
"So through the dark, dangerous forest Little Red Riding Hood skipped and as she went, hungry wolves began to circle her, drawing in closer."
The girl let out a whimper and he glanced up for a second. His eyes seemed to soften.
"And the wolves ate Little Red Riding Hood all up," he continued on. "Crunch, crunch, crunch. And because they were greedy and cunning too, they followed her tracks back to her village. And they ate everyone up, even her poor worried father. Crunch, crunch, crunch. And there was no happily ever after. The end."
He closed the book and she stared up at him, trembling.
"Bad story," she told him very quietly. "Want another."
"You're not getting another," he replied, taking his glasses off. She scrunched her face up at him, grubby hand shooting up to grab his shirtsleeve to keep him from leaving.
"I know a story," she murmured, popping her head out from under the blankets, trying to tug him back over.
"Let me guess," he said, lips turning up just slightly. "The Frog Prince?"
She shook her head, wide-eyed, clutching at his sleeve even tighter.
"Tell Rapunzel," she demanded.
A funny look went over his face.
"You don't want to hear that," he said with an air of nonchalance in his voice.
"Yes, I do," she replied, crossing her arms under her chin. "Want Rapunzel!"
"Do you think you deserve another story after the way you've behaved today?"
She blinked up at him like a kicked puppy. The sheepish feeling was growing too much to bear. Maybe she should just go to sleep...
"Tired," she said, covering her eyes with her little hands, peering out at him through her fingers. "I tired."
He gave her one of his faint smiles again.
"Of course you are," he said. He went to put the book away, putting it up on the highest shelf. Then he walked back over to give her a goodnight kiss, but she shoved her hands up to push him away.
"No kiss for Daddy," she told him sternly. "Still mean and stinky."
"If you say so," he sighed, bending back up again. "Goodnight Alex."
"Goodnight Daddy," she said, pulling her blankets back over her head. "Love you."
"Love you too," he replied. He paused for a second, before exiting the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Curiosity would not leave her alone, no matter how hard she tried to resist it.
She waited a week, when her father was having his book-club in the living room. Pulling over her little footstool which she used to reach the bathroom sink, she propped it up under her bookcase. It was mainly filled with books and some toys, but their were also things she found lying around outside, like feathers, shiny bottle-caps and pull-rings. The stool wasn't quite high enough, so she scrambled up the shelves instead, grabbing the thick, heavy book with both hands. The weight of it sent her falling to the floor with a thump.
"Alex?"
Panicking, she flipped to the contents page as footsteps sounded down the corridor. She knew her numbers, but was only half-familiar with capital letters. The big R jumped out at her. Flipping to number 23, she felt her heart do a massive lurch.
Someone had cut out the pages.
Her little hand felt the clean edges where no doubt a pair of scissors had neatly snipped them away forever. Tears sprang to her eyes as her father came hurrying in.
"Now what are you doing with that?" he tutted, leaning down to pluck it from her hands. "Have you hurt yourself?"
She just stared up at him, not quite understanding the feeling of outrage blooming deep inside her. If he noticed the look on her face, he didn't say anything. He just picked her up and carried her back to the circle of people in the living room where he could keep an eye on her.
Alex hadn't seen him in such high spirits for years. When asked why he was so cheerful, or at least as cheerful as he could manage, he replied with; "we're getting a very special new arrival to the island."
This came in the form of a blonde woman who looked like the pictures in her old book of fairytales, here to help with the pregnant residents of the village. A fairy godmother, she told herself excitedly. Someone who knew all the magic potions to help sick people become well again. She kept those thoughts of Ms Juliet to herself though. Everyone already thought she was a total baby, she didn't want to give them anymore fuel to the fire.
Her father was so cheerful, she came home one night to his bright suggestion of a game of chess. She hadn't played chess with him since she was seven, when he'd first taught her the rules. She'd gotten so frustrated with it, she'd run up the closest tree to sulk.
"Is Ms Juliet gonna stop the pregnant woman from...getting sick?" she asked, jumping at the opportunity to snag his Bishop with her Knight.
He had his glasses on again. Frog man. What had once been a childish insult had over the years, become something her father was almost fond of.
Almost, but not quite.
"I hope it pans out that way," he replied simply as he moved his Queen over to take her last Rook. She glanced across the board, realizing at once that her Knight had been keeping her Rook safe from his Queen all along. That in fact, she'd just walked into a trap with nowhere to move without losing a piece.
"No!" she moaned, looking around again.
"Yes," he replied with the faintest of smirks. Sighing, she moved her pawn into the firing line. He didn't snag it like she thought he would. Instead he moved his Knight over to the space where her pawn had once occupied.
"Check mate."
The girl stared at him as he sat back and looked right back at her, still smiling his little smile. Gawking at the board, she slumped down in her chair.
"You knew I would move the pawn," she shot at him, eyes narrowed.
"Of course," he replied easily. "It was your least important piece."
She huffed, folding her arms, already wanting to play again. She recognized the oh-so familiar urge to outsmart him that she'd had ever since she was four years old, hiding from him in the treetops.
"You're problem is," he said as he started resetting the board; "you don't think ahead. You see a weak spot and run straight for it."
Her brow furrowed with confusion. Was this what they called parental advice? Tips from her father only came in strange, often traumatic ways. She was sure it wasn't an accident that she'd stumbled upon an old horror tape at the age of twelve, about alien babies ripping out of people's stomachs. She guessed it was her father's way of telling her; "don't get pregnant or you'll die in the most horrific way possible."
"You need to be steps ahead of your opponent," he was saying, setting the last of the pieces up; "and you need to be able to get back on your feet, even when they get the better of you. Move around a setback and think up a new route of attack..."
She nodded and sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
"Why are you sniffing?" he asked her sharply. "You haven't caught that flu that's been going around, have you?"
"No," she replied a little too quickly. He gave her a look, before taking off his glasses and reaching over to feel her forehead.
"Dad, it'll go in a day like it always does," she said, annoyed at the whine in her voice. He didn't answer, pulling his hand back.
"Your temperature's up..." he said and she resisted the urge to sigh. "Let's get you to bed, before you get any worse."
"You're only saying that cause I'm about to beat you," she sullenly replied. He made an amused noise.
"Curses, foiled again," he drawled and went moving into the kitchen as she plodded morosely down the corridor to her bedroom.
"I'll make you some hot chocolate," he called after her and she pulled a face to herself. She was thirteen for goodness sake. Far too old for hot chocolate...
She awoke in a haze of sweat and phlegm, head pounding like tribal drums, stomach surging with sickness. A whimper escaped her, her muscles aching with dull, throbbing pain. The first rays of morning were shining through her window, but they just made her eyes ache. Shuddering through a wave of cold chills, she sat up, moaning pitilessly.
"Dad?" she croaked out. "Daddy?"
On the bedside table sat a glass of water that she eagerly took, gulping it down her parched throat. The house felt empty and she wondered if he'd gone off for some kind of meeting. If he'd left a glass of water, then he knew she was sick. He wouldn't just go away, would he?
In the fits of her fever, she stumbled to her feet and went staggering out the room and towards the front door. She wandered outside in her pajamas, blinking and shielding her eyes from the sun, bare feet cushioned by dewy grass. People were already up, despite the grayish dawn light. Some of them peered at her as she went lurching in a daze into the nearest house.
"D-Dad?" she croaked, making her slow, clumsy way inside. She heard footsteps and she paused, swaying slightly on the spot. A confused face appeared around the corner.
"Alex?" Ms Juliet called out to her. She just frowned back, wiping her running noise on one sleeve, her streaming eyes on the other.
"D'you know where my Dad is?" she bleated out and the woman came sweeping over in an instant, putting an arm around her shoulder.
"I'm sure we'll find him sooner or later," she replied, leading her into the living room; "but it's not a good idea to have you wandering around when you're already ill."
The teen nodded, allowing herself to be seated on the sofa. The weight of her sore muscles dragged her down and she curled up on her side. Juliet got her a spare pillow and blanket, tucking them around her.
"Your father will be back before you know it," she said soothingly. "Just get some sleep."
"N-normally...n-normally I read a book before I go to bed..." the girl replied, half-apologetic, her voice muffled slightly by the pillows. "It helps me sleep..."
"Of course," Ms Juliet smiled down at her. "Would you like me to read you something?"
She tried to nod, but her head felt like a heavy weight. Faded memories of her father's bedtime stories washed through her mind. She was sure he hadn't meant to scare the shit out of her, but he always had a knack for giving a harmless story a macabre twist. The matter-of-fact way he'd read them out made it worse. To a little girl, he made the fantasy seem very real.
"Could you...could you tell me Rapunzel?" she asked in a tiny voice. The memory came back to her like threads of an old blanket being restitched. The feeling of betrayal at the neatly removed pages in the book. Demanding anyone she came across to tell her the story and getting the same dismissive variation of; "you don't want to hear that."
"Of course," she heard her voice trail out through the heated fever, sickly and stifling. She should've been excited at this old mystery finally being solved, But she was too tired. Too sore and too ill, drifting in and out of consciousness.
"Once upon a time, there was a happy couple who lived on the edge of the forest, who after trying many years to have a child, finally brought a beautiful daughter into the world..."
The girl let the words wash over her like water, half-dozing already. Ms Juliet was good at telling stories too. She was calm, but not in the distant almost cold way her father was. She was warmer, more comforting...
"...but one night from the depths of the forest came a wicked witch, who wanted a child of her own and stole the infant away for herself. She kept her in a tower hidden in the woods and no matter how hard her parents searched for their child, they could never find her. And so the witch named the baby Rapunzel..."
Something shifted in the pit of her stomach, something twisted and uneasy. The words painted a picture in her mind, of a deep, endless forest and a towering stone tower with rusty black bars over the window...
"...and the witch kept Rapunzel locked inside the highest room of the tower, in fear that Rapunzel would leave for her own mother and father. As the years went on, Rapunzel's hair grew longer and longer, until it was so long it took her all day and all night to brush..."
And now she was so far gone into her fever, she had no idea whether that voice was real or imaginary, her mind filled with forests and mossy stone and long, dark curling hair.
"One day, a Prince was riding past on his steed and he saw a beautiful young woman in the window, brushing her hair. He heard the witch call out the woman's name and so he waited until midnight and said under the window, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fair hair..."
"Fair?" she cut in suddenly, frowning through the thick mists of sleep. She heard the other woman pause, catching herself, as if she too had been engrossed in the story.
"Well, it can be any color hair you want Alex..." she replied. "This is just how the story was told to me."
Her mind had already supplied her the answer. There were two streams of endless hair now, like rivers entwining together, one flowing gold, the other dark as night. And as the woman continued on, her mind filled in the blanks and unanswered questions for her.
"Rapunzel let down her hair for the Prince to climb the tower's stone wall. When the witch returned, he fought her until he and Rapunzel had a chance to escape..."
The fair-haired girl helped too, the teenager added on in her mind. But she was left behind with the witch so the other two could get away.
"Although the witch tried very hard to slay the Prince and get Rapunzel back, the two worked together valiantly to return home, where Rapunzel was reunited with her parents. She was married to the Prince in a wedding the whole land came to see. And they lived happily ever after..."
Except for the fair-haired girl. She had to stay in the tower with the witch.
An uneasiness flooded through her veins like poison.
There was something on the tip of her tongue, an urge to say something she knew was important but couldn't quite place. Their was an unsettled feeling, like something wasn't quite right, that something was out of place. She wanted to fight it off, but she couldn't muster the strength.
"Did the witch love Rapunzel?" she asked finally, her voice small. Ms Juliet paused, like she didn't know what to say.
"Of course, Alex."
She fought hard against the heavy sleep, fought it tooth and nail. She needed to tell her that she didn't like the story. That the story was bad, that the story was horrible. But the darkness overtook her at last...overtook her like black smoke billowing forward from the depths of a forest...
"...yes, she came in here looking for you. She's asleep in the living room right now."
Gummed up eyes opening slowly, she sat up, still feeling hazy and unwell. She could barely remember how she'd gotten here...
There was a feeling in her chest like something was missing...
Like there was a disappeared puzzle piece...
She got to her feet and her legs wavered like jelly, nearly giving way underneath her.
"Alex?" came the familiar voice from down the corridor, footsteps hurrying over. She blinked around blearily, trying to shake the dizziness away. Stumbling, she grabbed onto his arm, like she would've done when she was much younger.
"I was so worried," he said, utterly relieved. "I just went in to check on you and you were gone..."
She tried to say something, but her voice was hoarse and croaky.
"Thank you Juliet," he said and the girl felt her confusion deepen at the strange undercurrent in his voice. Something she'd never heard in him before.
"Oh she was no trouble. I hope you get well soon, Alex..."
"I'm sure she will..."
He began walking his daughter down the corridor. She waved desperately, hoping through her fogged up vision that Ms Juliet would see her. Why she wanted the woman to see her wave goodbye, she wasn't exactly sure.
She found herself back in her bedroom in record time. Before he left again, he hesitated by her bedside table, refilling her glass of water.
"Do you..." he cleared his throat out awkwardly. "What do you think of Juliet?"
Gulping down the cool liquid, she said; "I really like her. She's nice and she's smart and she looks like the drawings in my fairy tale book..."
A small part of her mind was already questioning why her father was asking her about Ms Juliet. The rest was so dragged down in delirium, she barely noticed the smallest of smiles on his face.
"You need some rest," he said, moving towards the door. "You'll be fine in a few hours..."
Some faint thing seemed to click together.
"Maybe...maybe she isn't a fairy godmother..." she babbled, trying to blink the sweat out of her eyes. "Maybe she's the Princess and...and..."
She tried to sit up, a sudden flash of panic gripping her whole.
"If you kiss the Princess, you'll turn into a weird Prince and you won't be frog man anymore!" she cried out and he turned to look at her from the doorway.
"Go to sleep Alex," he said with a hint of amusement.
"No..." she murmured thickly back. "Promise you'll stay frog man..."
"I promise I'll stay frog man," he told her soothingly. "Now go to sleep."
Mumbling incoherently, she flopped back down against her pillows. He slipped out of the room again, the door shutting with a clunk. She didn't know why the uncomfortable sensation suddenly deepened within her as she listened to his footsteps down the hall. Why the feeling that she was missing something, not quite remembering something itched harder then ever under her skin.
Like there were pages of a book missing.
As she fell swiftly back to sleep, the feeling didn't go away. It sunk down into her subconscious like a festering scab.
She dreamed of a Princess with long blonde hair picking up a frog from the ground. But it didn't turn into a Prince when she kissed it. It turned into a witch with staring eyes and a big nose, who took the Princess away into a tower where she'd never be free again.
Hours later, she woke up with tears pouring down her cheeks.
And she didn't had no idea why.