Prologue—3 years ago
Flynn stumbled as he walked through a quiet street, hating how it stank of high-strung adults and old farts who only cared for superficial things. He braced an arm on a perfectly pruned tree flanking the open road and let out a deep breath reeking of alcohol. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his neck, contrasting in temperature to the frigid night's air. Flynn almost had to rip off his beanie to cool down his head and wipe some sweat from his matted hair, but his arms said otherwise, bared to the midnight cold. He let out a drunken laugh that bubbled with amusement. How much this street reminded him of his old one. The thought of his parents made him shudder in all his drunkenness.
Flynn bit his lip, rolling around the hoop of his snakebite and relishing the feel of it against his tongue, trying to feel something, trying to cut through some skin and taste the blood because why the hell not? The best he's felt in years is just numb anyway.
But then his eyes fall on this one particular house and he actually pauses because this house looks like a freaking tower. He doesn't know how many stories it has, but he has never seen something so belittling in his entire life (with the exception of his parents, of course). And though it had this sort of dark presence as he stood just outside (which Flynn actually loved because it was so foreboding), he couldn't help but fantasize it as his dream house on an island all alone. He could never play nice with other people after all. And then he started to feel this urge, this down-to-the-bone, instinctual desire to break in…for no reason at all. He swore to himself that his stealing and B&E days were over but it was just for one night, right? Really, who could argue with the Flynn Rider? Or more like, who could argue with the drunken Flynn Rider?
Adjusting his beanie and giving his snakebite one more tug with his teeth, he went in. Jumping over the fence like a lithe cat, albeit a little clumsily due to the alcohol buzzing his brain, he crouched and ran through the backyard. No thoughts ran through his mind nor worries or cares. This version of Flynn Rider was merely a ghost creeping through the grass.
Maybe if Flynn were in his right mind, he'd realize that he shouldn't go into the creepiest and most sinister house on the street. One that lacked windows and the stale, uniform colors of all the other houses on the street. He would've noticed how the edges of the grass died out at the corners as if they were trying to escape from the confines of the tower. Flynn, the most observant person anyone knew, would've have found these things peculiar if he was in the right mind to notice them in the first place. But he was drunk—again—and getting into this house for the challenge or to look around or for whatever reason, was the only barely there thought in his head.
When Flynn looked up into the night sky—which was a blank sheet of midnight hues and no moon, he felt something shift in his gut. As if he knew he was probably not meant to be there despite his jail worthy desire. But when he spies a window near the very top of the house, Flynn shakes away the almost magical barrier trying to keep him away. He swiftly climbed onto the roof of a small veranda and snakes up poles and jumps on ledges, years of experience coming back to him as he went. His muscles screamed and ached after being forced into such exercise that he hadn't underwent in years. Flynn had been clean, no robberies, no drunk driving, no drugs, he flipped over a new leaf and resurrected his deteriorating life. But without his inhibitions, this decision would probably be one he'd regret later on. The scent of hazelnut invaded his blocked senses, reminding him of chocolate and soup, and he tried to shake it off when finally, finally he reached the open window. He could almost laugh at the ignorance of whoever's inside, thinking that just because they're high up that they're safe.
Flynn's eyes narrowed, trying to grow accustomed to the darkness when in truth, he had surprised himself that he even made it this far in his stupor. He couldn't see anyone so he quietly brought himself inside, padding through the room. He didn't know what to do next, but as he approached closer and closer to a bed, he saw something that he almost made him trip over.
Glistening in the midnight darkness was strands and locks of golden hair. It grew brighter and brighter with an almost angelic hue that screamed of magic. It was the most beautiful thing Flynn had ever seen. Flynn had always thought this kind of enchantment and magic had disappeared from the world long ago, yet here he was watching it shimmer right before his eyes.
He moved closer and closer towards the sleeping body on the bed. He picked up on soft murmurs, almost like a song being sung in the deepest moments of sleep. When he listened closer, he realized that it was a girl's voice, and she was in fact singing in her sleep.
"Bring back what once was mine..." Flynn heard her sing but the rest became too soft for his ears. And just like that, her hair stopped glowing and became a dull blonde. Flynn knew that he should turn around and get out of there because, really, it was bad enough that he couldn't concentrate that well but every single person in Corona (and maybe even further) knows not to mess with magic. Magic was a surefire call for trouble, but oh, how Flynn loved trouble. He wasn't sure exactly what this type of glowing, shimmering, gold-haired magic could do, but he wanted it.
Creeping in ever so slightly on tipsy feet, Flynn eyed the girl closely and he was almost struck by how innocent she looked. Not only did she carry this majestic air around her but also she was beautiful and Flynn wondered if anyone could be this gorgeous, or whether it was the magic. But when he studied her features, he couldn't detect a single cast of magic over her form. Maybe it's just her hair, he thought. He wanted to brush the stray lock cast over her cheeks, but didn't have the courage. But he felt so unexplainably drawn to her, for once, in a way that didn't include lust. He just wanted to hold her tight towards him, just to feel her body close to his just because and he couldn't even explain it. He shook his head and tried not to focus on the body in front of him.
He tried to focus on where the magic might be coming from. For a century or so, magic had vanished from the people. People had started to fear the power and the people who possessed it—one way or the other it was killed off. But there were still stories and legends of talismans and spells that old witches and sorcerers hid away, they showed that no matter what happened, magic couldn't disappear from the world completely. As a little boy, Flynn had read these stories, listened to them, drowned in them. But he never knew what to think of magic as a whole. He couldn't decipher whether it was good or bad. All he knew was that he wanted it. For once, he'd be able to get the chance. Magic had always been a secretive whisper amongst crowds, very few being able to possess it because there was so little to go around. It gave even more value to Flynn.
He searched the girl for some sort of necklace or bracelet—anything that could have possibly been giving her this strange and wondrous power. His eyes finally fall on a thick, black chain tumbling into her shirt glistening like velvet. He blinked once or twice before skillfully stroking it between his thumb and index finger. He carefully pulled it out of her shirt and unclasped it with as much care as a mother with her baby. And slowly, this dull and cracked talisman came into his sight and he almost staggered at the chance at real magic.
When it was carefully out of her hands and reach, and he safely had it within his grasp, he almost laughed in amazement. But even his drunkenness couldn't make him forget what a precarious situation he was in. He snapped it onto his neck and gave the girl one last fleeting glance, feeling slightly guilty from stealing from such an innocent-looking girl. But he told himself that this was his life, this was as good as he was going to get.
He made his way to her window and glanced back just one last time. The whisper of I'm sorry fresh on his lips before ducking out her window. He hit his head on the ledge above and let out a low grumble as he tried to sneak out.
Little did he know that at the noise, the girl's eyes fluttered open, catching the sight of a lantern tattoo on the back of a shoulder that almost glowed gold in the light and strong arms littered with ink. But then he was gone, and all Rapunzel's eyes could pick up on was a beanie that tumbled to the floor.
First shot at a Tangled story. Bare with me, I don't have all my shit straight. I'm trying to figure out the plot and things, but I'll get there. You just have to give me some time. I just wanted to see whether this could generate some curiosity and readers. Reviews would be appreciated, I take anything I can get