A/N: This is my first on fanfic, so please bear with my greenieness and help me fix mistakes if you see them. This story has been stewing forever, and I think that it is time to take it out of the pot and serve it up.

Disclaimer: according to Neil Gaimond, there is an author to every fairy tale, but I don't know who wrote rapunzel. I am not the original author. I just chose to spice the story up a bit.

Prologue

The Duke and Duchess of Treamor were passing through a small town on the way to the Duchy.

They had been inspecting their lands, making sure everything was running smoothly. They always did this personally, if they could, because they were good rulers and the cared about those whom the king had placed under their care.

However, the Duchess had been tiring quickly. She had delivered her third miscarriage two months ago, and was still recovering. Everyone was beginning to lose hope of an heir. The people were especially concerned. The duchess was not getting younger, and if there was no heir the lands would go back to the king. The people loved their stewards. If Duke Henry and Duchess Isuel did not bear an heir, who knew what kind of ruler could replace them?

The duchess Isuel, inside her carriage, was contemplating all of these things. She pressed her forehead to the glazed window of the carriage, which had been a gift from the king. Her eyes watched lifelessly as slowly places past.

Everyday it was a struggle to fight off the despair that surrounded her. She was losing the internal war, and the biggest battle was the fight to care. Most of her will to live had been sapped as she had given birth to three stillborn children, two boys and one sweet, perfect little girl.

Only her husband, Duke Henry, whom she loved so much, kept her from the cliff of despair.

The carriage jostled, and the Duchess knocked her head against the window. The slight pain brought her back to the present, and she focused on what her eyes watched beyond the window.

They were passing a cozy little cottage, situated far enough from the town to have plenty of privacy, though it stood near to the road. A small, perfectly tended garden circled the back of the cottage.

The Duchess smiled sadly at the perfection. She looked closer at the garden. In it, surrounded by bushes of flowers and other herbs, was the most perfect patch of rampion, or as the natives of Treamor called it, Rapunzel.

The leaves were the darkest emerald green and perfectly shaped. The Duchess could almost taste it; her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled.

She sat up strait and leaned towards her husband, sitting across from her in the carriage. "Henry," she said urgently, "I must have some of that rapunzel. Please. Please, just a taste, just a leaf, just a little. For me, please, a taste for me, get a taste for me." She wanted a tiny part of that perfection for herself, a reminder that it did exist. She needed it.

The Duke immediately called a halt to the procession. He would follow any whim of his wife's. He was simply too much in love to refuse her anything, and, recently, ha had missed her smile. He was in despair because she was. He could not deny her anything that might lift her mood, that could possibly make her smile.

As soon as the carriage stopped, he jumped out himself and ran to the garden, scanning for the plant he vaguely remembered as rapunzel. It was easy to spot, framed by flowers and ringed by shorter herbs.

The Duke marveled a moment at how faultless the whole garden was, how flawless everything seemed. And the unspoiled patch of rapunzel in the middle was the heart of the purity, or perfection.

He walked as carefully as he could, trying not to desecrate this sacred place, for any place so unflawed must be holy. He reached the patch, stretching out his hand for a stem of rampion. How much is a 'taste'? He wondered to himself. Though he hated to do it, he broke off a two leaves, and started to turn, but stopped. He would get a few more leaves, just to be sure. Anything for his wife, for his wife's smile to return.

As he extended his arm a second time, a small hand with a firm grip shot and wrapped around his wrist.

"Thief!" declared a voice beside him. He whirled to face the speaker, an older woman, maybe around the age of fifty or sixty or so. She had clear, unnaturally green eyes, and they glared at him accusingly.

A/N wow that was fun. Okay, now you get to review! Please? Uh, apparently it is going to take more than one chapter to get through the prologue, and the curse and what not, so once again, please bear with me!  Oh yeah, chocolate brownies to any reviewers!

Update: hey, i really dont like the name "Henry" for the Duke. it was kind of just a filler name when writing this. does anyone have any suggestions?