They were lying in bed, the only light in the room from the open balcony, moonbeams reflecting off of their silver and gold wedding bands. Rapunzel's hair was a hazelnut brown, the locks now down past her shoulders, long enough to cover her swollen breasts. Flynn's hand slowly brushed over her stomach, the bump there making him smile and lean over to kiss her once more. Their love making never felt so right than when he knew that it would result in a child. Their child. Rapunzel looked to him, her own fingers gently sliding through his hair before she kisses the tip of his nose and whispers, "Boy or girl?"
Flynn smiles, and bumps his forehead to hers. "Honey, it does not matter." His wife rolled her eyes, and shifted her body so it was pressed to him, awakening his nerves and reminding him why he had obeyed her wishes and waited until marriage. The lustful fire she had for him never seemed to go out, and something rekindled it whenever she saw the wedding rings on their left hands. "C'mon, Eugene. Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" Flynn nuzzled his head into her neck as she shifted over top of him, straddling him and adjusting so he slid into her. He hissed a moan, groaning and shuddering, her name on his lips before she stopped moving.
"Eugeeeene…answer my question…" Flynn murmured something, beginning to move his hips and then feeling her strong thighs hold him there. "Girl. I think it's a girl, Rapunzel." "Me too." "I love you." "I love you too." Their hips began to move again, and then Flynn was lost in the bliss of his wife's body, moaning and shuddering. And for that one moment, everything was perfect.
And then that moment ended.
Rapunzel was screaming and no one could hear her. She was screaming, and when she opened her eyes, Flynn was above her, his hands bloody and moving to pick her up. She recognized that their bedspread, originally a sweet cream color with sprinkled cocoa, was no longer that color. There was blood everywhere, and somewhere deep inside her, she knew it was her own. Or rather, it was the blood of their third child.
Her stomach felt as though the child had grown nails and tried to claw itself out. Its life was extinguished now, but her insides were suffering from its existence. Her existence. Rapunzel realized in a slow way that maybe the nails of the previous children had left scars that this one used to guide her. She had cried so much that her face tasted permanently salty, and she had sobbed and cried and broken down to the point where the palace doctor had to prescribe a concoction of honey, milk, juice of many fruits and a relaxant to calm her down. Her throat would recover, if she drank it every day.
But the thought of food and drink made her remember that she was now only eating for herself. She was not eating for two at this point—it was just her, and that caused such deep anguish within her that she emptied her stomach of anything that might be classified as nourishment. She could not even look at Flynn, as he brushed her hair from her face while she puked and held her while she cried and cried. How could she do this to him? This was her fault. Her body had lost their child. Again. Her body did nothing but kill children.
Flynn was lost in everything he was feeling. They had tried everything at this point—Rapunzel took several potions a day, all designed to help her body hold and care for the children that inevitably died within her before she reached her third trimester. The doctor always said that her body had enough of the sun's magic in it that there should be no reason this is happening. The theory of a curse from Mother Gothel was always circulating, but no one knew. This was the third miscarriage, and the closest they had gotten to it. This was their fourth year of marriage, and he had wanted to mark it with a successful pregnancy and a bouncing baby to carry on the name Fitzherbert. Until he met Rapunzel, Flynn never had the desire to procreate, seeing as his upbringing was influenced by the orphanages. Sure, Rapunzel's family had reformed the orphan and foster system once Flynn's situation came to light but… now, he just wanted to see what this marriage, and the love within it, looked like in a tiny human.
But he had no one to speak with about this. He was so alone in this. How could he be this sad? He needed to be there for Rapunzel, for his wife, who had just lost her third child. He had never felt that baby kick within him, or been unable to sleep because there was a kid sitting on his bladder. His feet had stayed the same size, whereas hers had doubled and she had to wear slippers everywhere. Never did he vomit more than three times a day or been unable to lay on his back due to swollen milk glands. He had no idea what she was feeling, and only knew that he was childless. Maybe it was him. Maybe he was the reason this was happening. Maybe his sperm was imperfect, or infected with the thieving sins he had committed in the past. This was his fault.
The king and queen were devastated; they had not been able to raise their own daughter, and so the idea of a grandbaby, a little one in which they could bestow all of their love was addicting. The first miscarriage had been the hardest for them—and the queen could tell that the third would be the last for Rapunzel. Her daughter had lost all of the light in her eyes, and after the initial day of the bloody bed, only the queen was permitted in the bed chamber. Flynn slept on a couch outside the room, his eyes continuously bloodshot. It had been a week since he had seen Rapunzel, and the king tried to distract him as much as possible. "Come, Flynn, let's go hunting." "Up for fishing today, Flynn?" "Flynn, shall we go visit the orphanage today?"
Nothing helped. The love of Flynn and Rapunzel was healthy and strong, but it thrived on how obsessed they were with one another. They loved each other so much that being without her hurt Flynn to the core. No one had called him Eugene in a week. He only ate when he felt like he was on the edge of unconsciousness, and drank only wine. The alcohol kept him sane, kept him from throwing himself up against that door and screaming his wife's name until his esophagus bled. There was nothing that kept him more calm than wine. A close second was children. Children kept him calm—he understood children, and he loved to hear them laugh. He wanted children. But it was useless. Once again, he reveled in the fact that this was his fault.
Rapunzel had instructed the servants to bring her endless amounts of painting canvas, and her paints. However, her old paints were promptly set aside, in favor if a new set, made from ground up bone and dying leaves. The colors were dark, black, grey, brown and a maroon that reminded her of the color of the bedspread when her third child's death stained it. The only spot of yellow was in the flower that began the bottom of the paintings.
Every time, the flower that had caused her to grow her hair, to sing the song, to meet Flynn, to see the lanterns, and finally, to find a new dream…the flower started out at the bottom of the canvases, opened to beauty in the center, yellows and whites and a touch of purple showing the magic in it. Only the center held happiness. The petals grew withered and sad, without any magic left in them. The ends dripped blood. The rest of the painting was a swirling of depression-colored paint. In one, a mother cradled a maimed and dead baby. In the next, a man turned his back on a woman as she dug her nails into her bleeding neck. These things were not like Rapunzel, the girl who was afraid of ruffians and thugs. That girl had given way to this woman, filled with darkness and anger.
The halls of the Corona palace were without the happy whistling and duet-ing of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzherbert. They had not spoken in two weeks, three, a month. Rapunzel's birthday passed within that time, and she did not watch the lanterns released in her honors. Flynn saw them. He and the queen and king stood on the platform where they had all first met, and watched four lanterns fly into the air. One for Rapunzel, two for the little boys and one for the little girl.
It took Rapunzel two months of painting to stop painting, and another week before she opened the door to their marriage suit at four thirteen in the morning. Her feet were noiseless on the cold tile, her dress barely covering her ankles. She was wearing purple again, but this was a favorite of her husband's—it hugged her body when she was a normal weight. Now it hung off her. She had lost ten pounds in the last month, and she felt like a skeleton. Her eyes were wide when she saw Flynn curled up on that couch. She had no idea he was still out here, and suddenly she was hit with how selfish she was being. What kind of person was she, to deny her husband his wife in such a great time of need?
He moved, and groaned her name, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Surprised at the sudden motion, her throat protested, and she covered her mouth, silencing her coughing fit before brushing tears from her eyes. Yes, he needed her. She needed him as well. In his presence, she felt happier than she had since the death. It was the first time she felt happy since then.
But then she remembered, and touched her stomach. Her flat stomach. Her babyless stomach. Could he even still love her, after she murdered their three children and then ignored him for two and a half months? Her body was sickeningly small, her hair was chopped off just as it was when he took the mirror to it almost five years ago. She had grown older, and he had as well. But she wasn't his Rapunzel anymore.
She stood there, looking at her husband, shivering and wanting nothing but his arms around her. She was ready to be comforted, and to be taught once again how to live. She was not okay. He was not okay. But being not okay together was better than being not okay alone.
His eyes open, and she froze. It was four eighteen. He sat up, eyes wide as he looked her over. And then he started to cry. Tears littered the collar of his sleeping vest, and he stood as his tears fell. She was terrified, looking up at him with eyes that reminded him of the look he received that night beneath the lanterns, in that love boat. Flynn hiccupped then, and stumbled two steps towards her. She took one step, and could feel the warmth of his breath along the top of her head.
"Eugene…"
"I missed you, Rapunzel."
"I miss you too."
They went into the bedroom, and lay on opposite sides of the bed. Eventually Rapunzel fell asleep. Flynn fell asleep. Their fingers were touching.