Author's Note:

AIOFanNCRM – Glad that you like the relaxed pace. Faith Rivens – I'm listening to Boats & Birds while writing this, thanks to you. Gah! PampleMousse70 – I can't help the cliff hangers, they're like in the film, except that they didn't stop the film so we can yell at the screen. An Unknown Foreign Beauty – You yourself killed Flynn too many times! Wicked Song – The Healing Scene is tricky. I don't wanna do a copout healing scene. But without a copout healing scene Flynn will surely die... I don't know. Naara – Drowning is the best for Gothel. It's ambiguous and not final-ish until you find the body. Glad you liked it. And you sound like a FANGIRL to me. And I am too! Tangled DVDs are yet to arrive on my shore. Holy Batali – Glad you love the R+J allusions. My favourite tale. Alltangledup95 – I wish I had written Eugene better at the beginning. I was influenced by the desire to do dark till I took away the characters' light in them. I forgot that the story itself is already a dark one. Romance and Musical – That thought of sending her home safely won't be possible if it was at her apartment/ Gothel's tower itself. So the Pier became necessary.

Stages of Grief (or Taken Away)

She was his new dream.

And she had dreamt of lanterns, seasonal fairs, fresh air, a walk in the park, playing in the stream, books, Chinese food, Mexican food, shopping for dresses and shoes, learning, watching a play in motion, dancing in the sunlight.

And today she knew that those dreams were temporary and would cease their wonders once she experienced them.

But one dream remained.

A dream that she was not able to put into words for the simple fact that she didn't know that such dream existed.

The dream of HIM.

Seeing him, talking with him, touching his strong arms, hanging on to him like she hung on to dear life. Making things right for him, listening to his deep and lonesome voice, looking into his eyes, teasing him. Laughing at his jokes, telling him that he is wrong and he admits it albeit begrudgingly. Sharing his view of the world, knowing his story that he reluctantly shared, forgive him for his mistakes and he hers.

And the dream shattered, torn to pieces, snuffed out right before her eyes in mere minutes. One minute he was there, as strong as an ancient tree and the next he was a shell of memories.

She gently placed his hand back on to his wound. He became her sleeping tired knight after years of battle. His eyes closed but his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something. She touched his still chest and let her finger traced the plane of his body until she reached his bloody abdomen.

She was in the middle of something important when he stopped her and told her his dream. Denial conquering her rationality, she picked up the pen again and wrote on his other arm. She pressed the nib on his skin and wished he would wake up and told her to stop hurting him with the pen. She didn't believe that all these were for nothing. She was cursed. She was gifted. She became an addiction. She could do this. The ink came out black and thick. Like his blood was red and thick.

Heal what has been hurt

Change the Fate's design

Save what has been lost

She stopped and searched for words that would deserve to be on his knightly arm.

Bring back what once was MINE

What once was MINE.

So she wrote. And cried on his face, like a prima donna in her final scene before death or exile.

But he lay still like a stone.

Suddenly, a ray of light emerged from Eugene's body. And something told Rapunzel that it wasn't magical or anything to do with her witchery. It was the sound that accompanied the light. The sound of footsteps and creaking noise as if something heavy was pushed on the concrete. Rapunzel turned around. It was a man holding a flashlight and his other hand was pushing a trolley filled with newspapers, blankets, water bottles and other things needed by a person permanently living on the streets.

"Did someone get shot?" The man asked. It was the homeless man they met in the park. She remembered faces permanently because of the fact that she seldom saw them.

"Please help him," Rapunzel begged the man to do something, anything. The man came closer and bent on his knees closer to Eugene.

"Sweet mother of – I've been to three wars and this one's –, "he didn't finish that sentence.

"I'm sorry, kid. But I called EVERYONE when I heard gunshot. I think, they're here," he said and continued rolling his trolley away.

"Watch out for yourself, kid. These people are going to tear you apart," he said as his voice trailed off.

Rapunzel reflected bitterly. Nothing could tear her apart anymore. Mother had completely destroyed her when she let the bullet fly and tore Eugene apart. Rapunzel would remain as she was now and never be torn apart by anything else ever again. What would tear her apart when his leaving had left her in pieces?

A second later, Rapunzel heard the familiar sound of mechanical wailing that she always have heard from Mother's apartment window. Soon, lights and sounds from vehicles flooded the place. People swarmed the Pier. It was amazing how light and people were never there where she needed them the most. If this was the case ten minutes ago, Eugene would still be ... she couldn't even dare to entertain the thought.

Men and women clamour over him like insects. They cut off his clothes, exposing his now terrifyingly still beautiful body to the cold night. They covered his face with apparatus that was more likely invented for sucking life out of him than resuscitating him. They were saying dark phrases that she could not fully understand.

"He's not breathing."

"I can't find a pulse."

"He lost a lot of blood."

"Give him everything."

In just seconds, they bundled him up in their machines and things, and he was taken away from her. And he was gone, just like that. As if he had never existed.

As that happened, another group of people with machines of flashing lights and machines that they talk into began to cross the boundary set by the group of healers, and they clawed their way to her, pushing their metal sticks into her face and watching her with their machines with glass eyes.

"Leave me alone!" She screamed. Because they were asking her if she shot him, if she killed him and why. Truth was, it was true that SHE brought whatever that happened to him. Nothing like this would have happened to him if he hadn't met her. Again, Mother's words rang true even though Mother was gone.

If you ever go outside, Rapunzel, you will hurt people. Do you want people to die just because you cannot control your imagination?

Even in death, Mother was right.

"He was my friend!" She said.

As she was overwhelmed by the savageness of curiosity, she was rescued by another group of people, the law enforcers. They asked cold questions. They picked up Mother's gun which was left on the concrete floor before she jumped into the sea.

"May I see your identification please?" One of the law enforcers asked her.

"What?" Rapunzel replied in horror.

In a second, she knew that her life had ended with Eugene's. She had no evidence to prove that she exists. She had no identification. She did not exist in the system created by these people. If Mother had it and kept it for her, it would be a long and outlandish story she had to tell to these people.

"ID please."

"I don't have any," she said. Maybe for once, the truth will set her free.

She was wrong.

"Maybe she's an illegal," one of the men in uniform said.

"Naaht, she seems local to me. And in the strange get up from Medieval Weekend as well. She's local alright, but something ain't right about her."

She was escorted into the law enforcer's vehicle. Like a living dead, Rapunzel complied. She was not handcuffed for she had no resistance to offer.

The shock wore off during the ride. Tears began to flow freely from her face. She remembered everything. From the moment she laid eyes on him years ago when he started working at the Chinese eatery. He was only a shape, a form. When they met again at the Tower in Grimmney Amusement Park, she formed negative opinions about him. But he let her prove that she was not made of evil. He made her know she had a choice to do good. And he proved to himself that he could do good by standing up to her craft knife-wielding mother in an attempt to protect her, a complete stranger. When he broke into Mother's apartment, she heard him speak, learnt of the highs and lows in his breaths and spoken words. He became alive. And then their journey began.

He attended to her needs. He was patient even though he was preoccupied with threatening thoughts. He was the kind host. He rose to the occasion of making her Medieval Weekend an experience to remember. He had nothing to impress her with. He had nothing shiny and valuable but his wit, his kindness and his goodness.

The A to Z of First Aid and Family Health had mentioned the five stages of grief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

Where was she? She had tried to revive him with her 'witchery'. She was in denial. She was angry at herself. Blaming herself for this mess, blaming him even to ever meet her. She had bargained with Mother, and at the moment bargaining was only to ease her conscience. He had set her free. He wouldn't live to see her die in Mother's psychotic clutches.

Depression? If there is deeper sadness than this, she wouldn't know. She had accepted their final separation when they took him away.

But she knew this vicious cycle would repeat endlessly as long as she drew breath. The stages were driving her insane. Her only protection was the belief that she knew he wouldn't want her to go insane.

I'm sorry Eugene, I'm so sorry.

She whispered to her own reflection on the glass window of the police patrol car.

The ride to wherever the law enforcers were taking her was the longest ride in the longest night of her life.