AN: Part of the story inspired by the song "Desert Rose" by Sting. Unlikely source, but the sensuality of it and the beautiful exotic feel to it make it strange and foreign. I think Rapunzel, at this age, feels foreign in her own body, especially not knowing what most girls know when their bodies are changing and they grow from girl to woman.
Desert Rose
The flickering light of the candles and the fire in the corner produced twisting shadows on the paintings covering her bedroom. They remind her of the floating lights that come every year on her birthday, but are no comparison. But Rapunzel can make do with them now, for she knows in three days time she can watch the lights from her window. And what a special year, for she will be turning sixteen!
Her mind flies on many a subject, uninhibited due to the quiet of the night and the solitude she feels. She thinks on how Mother has been growing increasingly odd towards her, and she traces it back to the Talk they had three years ago when her body was changing and she was oh so confused about what was happening to her. It was the Talk when a few of her questions were answered, but so many more arose. Especially about men, creatures very very similar to herself, but different as well. She learned to stay away from the horrid ones, for though they could seem all that is pleasant on the outside, they would hurt you in unspeakable ways. But if they were so terrible, then why were they needed to make babies (though she was still very confused on that whole process) and what about her father…
But Rapunzel could not think on those things now. Mother is gone on an extended trip. She thinks it's because Mother is getting her those really nice paints she's been wanting so she could finish up her latest mural on one of the few uncovered spaces in her room. But she must be very careful and not "burn the tower down" like Mother worried she would. She must make sure the tower is perfectly clean and undamaged as thanks for Mother going on such a journey just for her! She scurries about the tower, closing windows and checking locks.
The night is unseasonably cold, the fire making her feel very cozy. Pascal is perched in the little bed she made for him in the other room, all snug and snoozing as she extinguishes candles one by one, deciding to leave the fire running since she is feeling so very cold right now. Her bed is calling, and the covers warm her as she wriggles around finding the right spot.
She dreams of riding a horse, a white stallion, the wind flying into her face as she reaches dizzying speeds on open fields and her long golden hair fanning out for miles behind her like a trail. She dreams of the desert, something she has only read about, walking among sand dunes when she finds a rose of brilliant crimson among the vast expanse of sand and as she reaches out to touch it the desert turns into a beach and as the ocean's waves lap at her feet she can almost smell the salty air that Mother described after much begging. She lays down in the sand and then it is raining, her clothes soaking and becoming a second skin until they fade into nothing and she is naked. She closes her eyes and when she opens them she can barely see through the flickering candlelight in her room, but enough to observe a golden brown hand traveling down her side and she knows it must be the hand of a man, though having only snuck a few peeks at pictures of the mysterious creatures in a book she found in Mother's satchel last year. Everything is moving too fast for her to comprehend anything other than gasping breaths and sweet whispers in her ears as hands touched her naked skin, but she did not mind for she knew it was better this way and she was writhing beneath the sheets with the man above her doing…what was he doing? What was going on? And she turns her face to the side and there lying on the pillow next to her head is that crimson desert rose and she wakes up writhing just like she was in her dream, panting like she was in her dream, but alone.
She couldn't sleep. She didn't know why, but the area below her stomach was very warm. Her body tingled, and she tried placing the cool palm-sized stone her mother had given her against her lower abdomen and upper thighs, but nothing stopped the heat. Her breasts itched and she tried rubbing them to soothe them, but to no avail. If anything, the more she moved her hands, the more she became…restless? Agitated? She couldn't think of a good word to describe it.
Her hand slid into her undergarments, not knowing why but vaguely recalling images from her dream and dreams past and pictures in a book she wasn't supposed to see. She was blushing, instinctively feeling ashamed for the action but not understanding why as hands fumbled around, not knowing what they were doing or why but feeling like they was getting close until they touched that spot. A gasp of breath at the spark and eyes closed and she tentively repeated the movement, feeling it again. There was a tightness lower, and hips bucked and toes curled and fumbling fingers grew confident in strokes and circles and flicks and fire, it was so hot and the hair on her neck was damp with sweat but she was so close to something she had no idea she was searching for and that tightness, oh the sweetness of it but how much more wound could she get but only a little more, a little faster, and a shiver down her spine and a clenching in her stomach and almost there when she imagines the man over her with his broad back and dark hair and she starts to shake as she tries to see his face but she can't and she loses control of her muscles and she feels the release. It is quick and confusing and satisfying yet not complete and she doesn't know what happened and she wants to try it again (Again? Can it happen again?), but then she is embarrassed and her cheeks are hot. She rises from the bed and washes her hands and changes her undergarments, throwing the wet ones with that new, strange scent on them into the fire and hoping mother doesn't find out…
And then she remembers Mother and expects her back in a few hours. She raises her hands to her face to cover her blushing cheeks and wonders if this weird scent that still clings to her fingers will ever go away. She wants to know what happened, what she did, but she doesn't think that whatever-it-was is something to be shared, and knows she can't ask Mother even if she's so curious.
She promised to never keep secrets from Mother, and she never, ever breaks promises, but this will have to be her first promise broken. It is her first secret.