Killing Me Slowly: A Tangled Fanfiction

by keeparecordofthewreckage

Living in Corona, Eugene and Rapunzel are more in love than ever. One year post-tower, they have navigated trauma, grief, new relationships, and what it means to have a real family. But is their love strong enough to withhold the restraints of an unexpected arranged marriage? (Rated M for references to prior trauma, sexual intimacy, and language). This is a currently active story!

29. Chapter 28

AN: Today's first two featured songs are evermore by Taylor Swift (feat. Bon Iver) – the namesake of today's chapter title – and Meadows by Wild Child. They are such beautiful songs, both of them in their own way. I can especially – perfectly – picture evermore playing in the background while Eugene and Rapunzel lie in their special meadow together, as there are quite literally birds chirping in the song. I can then imagine Rapunzel being sucked back into the unavoidable reality of her situation; ripped from the hope that Eugene is coming for her and shoved into the crippling fear that something horrible has happened to him.

The final featured song for today is yet another beautifully heartbreaking tune: Another Love by Tom Odell, which wonderfully suggests Rapunzel's inability to fall in love with Charles as it's mirrored with her inability to fall out of love with Eugene. All three songs capture so well the paralyzing emotions which Rapunzel might be experiencing at this point in our story. Enjoy!

P.S. I know I said that I was going to be more consistent about updates this summer, and I'm very sorry that I haven't entirely kept that promise. After I made that well-intended promise, I went and got engaged, so I've been a little busy with wedding planning as of late. All I ask is that you continue to be patient with me as we approach the end of this story!

Chapter 28: Writing Letters Addressed to the Fire

And when I was shipwrecked, I thought of you

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you

It was real enough to get me through…

The melodic sound of birds chirping is softly – comfortingly – inescapable, quietly enveloping Rapunzel's heart in the kind of peace which she has never known before, the gentle sway of ten thousand blades of grass nearly enough to rock her to sleep. At this particular time of year, the grass is tall enough to conceal them from the rest of the world. It's the kind of concealment which, to her own surprise – what with her recent history of isolation – Rapunzel has actually come to appreciate.

It's the kind of loving concealment which wordlessly holds out its hand and says: 'I'm not taking you away for my own good, nor for my selfish usage of you. I'm taking you away for your own good.'

In the last month or so, Eugene has entirely shifted the jaded way in which Rapunzel now views concealment. For as long as Rapunzel can remember, Gothel had convinced her that the tower was where she was always meant to be. She had accepted her fate, and had even convinced herself that she was happy there, deceiving as her contentment was; happy enough to be too afraid to leave.

But deep down, in the depths of her unsatisfied heart – a heart which had so desperately yearned for freedom – Rapunzel had always known that she'd belonged elsewhere, among the floating lights. Like a bird of these meadows, she was never meant to be trapped. She was always meant to fly freely among the rest of the world, bare feet kissing the solid ground which she'd craved for so many years.

Now, Rapunzel doesn't accept concealment as her only option. Instead, she craves concealment with Eugene when life as a newly-returned Lost Princess becomes a little too overwhelming. It happens often enough; much more often than Rapunzel is readily willing to admit to her doting parents. But, bless Eugene's heart, he has procured quite the gift for knowing when it's time for Rapunzel to get away, if only for a moment; if only for a chance to catch her breath. He's pulled her into broom closets, and around dark corners, and into empty sitting rooms enough times for Rapunzel to know that Eugene knows – without so much as a word from her – when it's time for the newly-crowned princess to be Just Rapunzel for a little while.

Assuming the loaded title of 'princess' has come with its own plethora of impossible expectations and precocious rules, with an increasingly busy schedule presented to her like a ribbon tied to an explosive gift; a ribbon which could very well double as a noose, if Rapunzel's not entirely careful. And while Rapunzel is every kind of ecstatic to be home with her real family, there is a look in her eye and a too-tight smile which comes upon her face when everything simply becomes too much. And in just a few weeks, Eugene has miraculously become an expert where everything Rapunzel doesn't say is concerned.

Which is exactly why – what with the hectic day that Rapunzel has had – they're lying in this sunbathed meadow now, quietly listening to the harmonious birds singing around them, enjoying the comfortable silence of one another's well-loved company.

Until Eugene breaks that relaxing silence, that is.

"We never really did get the chance to dance together that day, you know."

Curious, Rapunzel sits up suddenly in the warm grass, rolling over and pushing herself onto her elbows. She cocks her head down at Eugene as he lies there beside her, hands tucked nonchalantly beneath his head, looking like some sort of devilish rogue; which, she supposes, he still is. In some ways.

"What do you mean?"

They've danced together, surely. They've danced together plenty since she's returned home. During the week-long party which celebrated Rapunzel's long-awaited return, they'd danced so much that their feet were sore for the entire week after. That first, celebratory week, she and Eugene had thrown their heads back in childlike laughter, they'd fallen so in love that it was borderline pathetic, and they'd definitely danced together. They'd tripped over one another's feet, they'd stumbled around a bit, but they'd honestly been too happy to care.

Eugene had been a little… tipsy most of the time, sure. But they'd danced together. She knows they had. Had Eugene drank so much during that memorable week that he really doesn't remember any of it?

"I mean," Eugene reaches for Rapunzel's hand with an easy smile, standing abruptly and pulling her up with him as he goes, mischief twinkling in his whiskey-tinted eyes. "On your birthday in the square. We never really got the chance to dance together. I only got to be close to you for a moment, right when the song came to an end."

In spite of herself, Rapunzel giggles then, a bit surprised that Eugene is still able to remember each detail of that perfect afternoon so vividly. Of course, she remembers each detail in marvelously brilliant color, the entire day stamped into her memory forever; nostalgia for their time together replaying through her mind on a constant loop, dripping through her consciousness like a wax seal that never quite dries.

It's only been a few weeks since then, Rapunzel knows, and the events of that evening are still a bit raw to both of their aching hearts, the panic of losing one another permanently stamped there, too. The memory of her birthday is filled with such mixed emotions, and Rapunzel hadn't been sure if he'd wanted to relive those many, sordid feelings just yet. For this reason, she hasn't broached the subject of that day any more than necessary in the past several weeks since her return, terrified of triggering a memory which Eugene is not quite ready to reminisce upon; memories like almost losing his neck to a tightly-synched noose.

"Is dancing with me something you've wanted to do?" Rapunzel wonders to the endless sky, thoroughly amused. She allows Eugene to guide them into a dancing stance before ultimately resting her gaze upon this mystical man, eyeing him closely as he wordlessly begins to sway them together, leading them by the sound of soothing bird song.

It's the very same stance which they'd assumed in the memory that Eugene has just lovingly recalled: the moment when they'd perfectly collided in the square at the very end of the lively song and dance which she'd coaxed him into. Except now, they're actually moving, though everything else is the same as it was on her birthday. Chests pressed tightly together – leaving little room to breathe without one heart pounding against the other – sharing the same, harsh pump of rushing blood, the same restless dreams, and the same love and longing which lies hidden there beneath their ribcages, waiting. When they'd collided that fateful day, Rapunzel remembers the way in which the wind had been all but knocked out of her at the sight of such a beautiful person so very close up.

Not that she's breathing now, either, despite the calm quietness of their current situation in comparison to the jovial cheers which had become the soundtrack of her birthday; despite the fact that she should be used to his beauty by now, but she's not.

"I've wanted to do everything with you, Blondie." Eugene answers easily, honestly. Endearingly. And though Rapunzel half expects him to be joking, she's pleased to find that Eugene's face shows no sign of humor as he looks down at her, staring unwaveringly into her eyes as they sway with the grass. "But dancing would sure be a good start. You know, dancing when it's just us. No crowds, no 'welcome home' parties. Just you and me."

"What do you mean when you say that?" Rapunzel tilts her head up at Eugene, squinting against the balmy sunshine and trying to search for the right words without stumbling over the rapid beat of her heart and the heaviness of her tongue, heart threatening to burst from her chest and tongue desperate to entangle itself with his. "When you say that you want to do everything with me… what does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like it means." Eugene tilts his own head, mimicking her curious expression with a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. With a flourish, Eugene lifts his arm above their heads, spinning her around and under it, causing a gentle giggle to leave Rapunzel's mouth as her soft, green skirts twirl and fan out around her legs. "It means that I want this. I want… you."

Eugene blushes then as he pulls them back together, and as much as Rapunzel is a bit shocked by a blushing Eugene (and a little dizzy from the romantic twirling) – if only because he's typically so cool and collected, so unlike her – she's equally as enamored by him blushing at the thought of her as she is enamored by the thought of him.

So enamored that it would be concerning, if he were someone else.

"But more importantly, what do you want?" Eugene questions as he guides Rapunzel close enough to nearly crush her hammering heart against his, resuming the gentle sway of their bodies in time with the swooshing grass; grass which will dutifully keep their secrets safe for the next year-and-a-half.

Rapunzel ponders on this fully-loaded question for a quiet, thoughtful moment, gratefully pressing her chest to Eugene's familiar frame as they dance in the vast, ever-swaying meadow, pleased by how it feels to be so very close to – and so very alone with – him like this, as if they've been molded together forever; as if they were made for one another somehow.

In all honesty, it feels entirely impossible to believe that they weren't.

What does she want, though, really? She wants a lot of things, Rapunzel has rapidly come to realize in the previous month; so many things. The kinds of things which she'd been discouraged for eighteen years to yearn for: things like self-assuredness, real, requited love, and freedom. Having just returned to the outside world after nearly two decades of living in an isolated tower, it would be alarming if Rapunzel weren't desperate for a little taste of everything that her new reality has to offer.

But here, in this gorgeous meadow which Eugene had showed to her for the first time this afternoon – telling her that it could be their own little secret, something they could hold onto like some kind of shared, sacred promise – Rapunzel realizes that Eugene is very high on the list of things she wants most. Though, there is – overwhelmingly – so much to want, and to see, and to feel in the world. But perhaps, Eugene will be okay with her wanting those things, too.

He doesn't seem like the jealous type, after all. Just the protective type: the type of protective that Rapunzel is not used to. The type of protectiveness which loves her more than it loves its own selfishness.

"I think I'd like you to push me on that swing over there!"

Voicing her abrupt desire with an alluring look over her shoulder, Rapunzel bounds excitedly to the massively sturdy weeping willow tree which proudly stands in the very center of the swaying field, settling down on its wooden seat and waiting patiently for Eugene to catch up with her curious outburst. Eugene, it seems, is always having to run after and catch up with her.

Though, he doesn't really seem to mind.

"You want me to push you on the swing, huh?" Eugene teases, assuming his place behind her, grabbing for the swing's thick ropes just above where Rapunzel's hands already hold them. "Anything else, Princess?"

In the previous weeks, Eugene has taken quite a liking to addressing her with a multitude of endearing nicknames; Princess, Blondie, and Rapunzel's personal favorite: Sunshine. Rapunzel has taken quite a liking to listening to these various nicknames for her as they fall from his lips exclusively.

"This is good! For now." Rapunzel responds cheekily, grinning back at him as Eugene settles behind her, gently beginning to push her on the swing as she pumps her legs in time with his soft pushes, suddenly wanting nothing more than to touch the bright, blue sky with the tips of her bare toes. "I'm glad you showed me this place, Eugene. It's very beautiful. It reminds me of the meadow beneath my –"

Tower.

This place – Eugene had promised upon their arrival, no more than an hour ago – would always be somewhere they could come together, just the two of them. They could come here just the two of them, whenever life gets too hectic, or whenever Rapunzel's endless duties as princess become a bit too overbearing for her. If she ever needs a break – Eugene had promised – he would meet her here or they would come together, like today.

She'd desperately needed to get away today, as Rapunzel's freshly-fallen smile quickly confirms. And, as promised, Eugene had been more than happy to ride Max and Fidella out to this hidden meadow on the very outskirts of the kingdom; their newly-assumed, secret place. Their place to breathe and just be for a little while. To be the people they were before the gowns, and the balls, and the lifelong, anxiety-ridden commitment of assuming an entire kingdom.

Their secret place to love one another wholly and quietly, even if they're still learning what that really means.

"Hey, I know!" Eugene exclaims then, his expression lighting up with an idea, desperate to brighten Rapunzel's face again, as well. "Once I get you swinging high enough, you can jump off, and I'll catch you!"

Eugene's simple, playful suggestion causes a deep warmth to blossom in the pit of Rapunzel's stomach. She's never had someone to just… play with before, aside from Pascal. And while she's no longer a child – having recently turned eighteen – Rapunzel so desperately wants to fulfill the voided things which she'd missed out on when she was in the tower. She so desperately wants to fill the empty parts of the normal childhood that she'd lost: things like jumping off swings, and getting dirty from rolling around in spacious meadows, and having someone to lose all sense of reality with. Before now, she's never had someone to daydream, and play pretend, and just forget the rest of the world and be normal with, if only for an afternoon.

Eugene, as much as she's come to adore him (which, in the last month or so, is a lot), is just as much Rapunzel's friend as he is her lover. He's so much fun, and he allows her inner child to live freely in the way that Gothel never had. Gothel had entertained her to a fault, but only until Rapunzel was old enough to live mostly on her own, spending so much of her teenage years in the quiet loneliness. Now, she has a friend. A real one.

Not only does Eugene humor Rapunzel's inner child – not only does he let her know that she's safe enough with him to yearn for all of the things which she'd missed out on – but Eugene now has the chance to experience with her the childhood that he'd never had, either. Now, he has some sense of security, and now, he too feels safe enough to be himself.

His true self. The man behind the storybook name; the man with a much better story of his own to tell.

Now, they have each other. He'd set her free, and she'd saved him, and he'd given her the courage to finally spread her wings and fly. And even if she's not ready to fly on her own quite yet, Eugene will always be there at the bottom, prepared to catch her with ready hands that will never do her any harm. Rapunzel knows that he'll always be there, waiting.

"You'd really do that?" Rapunzel asks with a delighted laugh, rushing past Eugene as she comes down from the swing's highest point, having pumped her legs hard enough to get her swinging quite high in the sky now. "You'd catch me?"

"Only if you trust me!" Eugene laughs, too, finding his own delight in her joy. "Do you?"

"I trust you." Rapunzel breathes, realizing that Eugene probably didn't hear her as the swing rushes past him once more, shouting gleefully over her shoulder. "I'll always trust you!"

"Okay!" Eugene giggles – he actually giggles – rushing from the spot behind her where he'd been pushing Rapunzel and hurriedly running to place himself in front of her now, just far enough away so that he'll be able to catch her easily when she jumps. "I'll count to three, and when I say go –"

But before Eugene can get so much as another breath out – her excitement threatening to burst her apart at the seams – Rapunzel releases her fingers from around the tree swing's thick ropes, letting go of a shrill laugh from deep in her chest as she feels herself soaring through the air from the highest point of motion.

"Eugene!" Rapunzel screams happily, limbs and hands flailing about, grabbing in the air for something that isn't there. "Eugene, catch me!"

And he does, thankfully, though the landing is much less graceful than it would've been if Rapunzel would have heeded Eugene's warning to jump on 'go.' In a heap of heavy breathing and sordid yelps, they crash to the ground together, her legs wrapped haphazardly around his waist as they fall back into the soft grass, the both of them laughing so hard that their lungs threaten to give out.

"Blondieeeee…" Eugene whines, though he's still laughing in spite of himself, trying to catch his knocked-out breath from the backwards fall. "You were supposed to wait until I was ready!"

Straddling Eugene's hips, Rapunzel merely grins knowingly down at him. She grins, if only because her trust in him is a bit overestimated, but not at all naïve.

"I couldn't wait! I just wanted to feel myself flying!" Rapunzel sighs happily, giggling at Eugene's expression of lingering concern and thoroughly amused by the way he looks her over for any clear bruises or broken bones. "I've always dreamed of being able to do that!"

"And did you get your dream?" Eugene murmurs, fondly pushing a fallen piece of freshly-chopped hair out of Rapunzel's gleaming eyes and tucking it behind her ear, sure that this curious, free-spirited girl is going to be the absolute death of him. "Did you feel like you were flying, Sunshine?"

"Oh, I got my dream." Rapunzel confirms as the once-playful smile drops from her face entirely, though not in an angry way. No, she simply grows very serious as she – alluringly – brings their faces close together, and Eugene isn't entirely prepared for what Rapunzel is about to say in that hushed, sweet tone of hers. "And he's very beautiful."

His pounding heart stops at that, because it brings Eugene back to a moment that he's not entirely sure he's prepared to relive just yet, as it's so very bittersweet to reminisce upon.

'You were my new dream.'

And you're still my dream –

"Blondie…" Eugene reaches up as she continues to straddle his hips, shifting herself in a way that Rapunzel doesn't quite understand why it feels good yet, though they're both completely and painfully aware that it does.

With his outstretched hand, Eugene traces her lips with his thumb, using his palm to cup the side of her cheek. Rapunzel nuzzles into the familiar feel of his calloused hand, the mood entirely shifted now.

"Here." Eugene whispers in a far more raspy tone than he'd intended, gently rolling them and hovering over Rapunzel as her short hair splays out around her trusting, open face in the tall, secret-keeping grass. "Lay down."

She reaches up once they've settled down again, gingerly running her palm over Eugene's chest and resting it there as the swaying meadow conceals them from the rest of the world, the chirping birds overhead the only eye-witnesses to their scandalous position.

"Your heart is beating so fast." Rapunzel breathes observantly, staring at her fingers as they stretch over the sturdy leather of one of his newer doublets.

Eugene rolls his eyes playfully at that, taking Rapunzel's wrist into his hand, pulling her fingers away from his chest and kissing her palm gently.

"Well, you kind of scared the freaking crap out of me, Blondie." Despite Eugene's chastising words, he's grinning again all the same, eyes twinkling. "I said that I was going to count to three, and that you should jump when I say go. Not whenever you feel like it. What if I hadn't been paying enough attention, didn't catch you, and had to explain to your father how you got a broken leg!? He's scary!"

If the words were coming from anyone else – if they were coming from Gothel – it would've been in the form of genuine, harsh-toned scolding. But Rapunzel knows, what with the huge grin on his face, that Eugene isn't angry with her for her quick free-spiritedness. Instead, he's simply glad that he had been paying close enough attention, and that he'd caught her before she could crash to the ground on her own.

"I have to make sure to keep you on your toes." Rapunzel teases, tapping Eugene's nose softly with her index finger, giggling when he scrunches it at the contact. "It's all part of dating a princess, you know. You can never let your guard down, not even for a moment."

"I think it's just a part of dating, you." Eugene responds with a hearty laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Good thing I'll always be here to look out for you, huh?"

Something in Rapunzel's expression changes then, an anxiety of sorts flashing behind her emerald eyes.

She's beautiful. Surely the most beautiful young woman that he's ever seen, especially this close up. And despite Rapunzel's concerned expression, Eugene can't keep himself from kissing her, her allure so great. Her feet are bare, the soles of them kissed by the soft ground as her lips are kissed by his, and Eugene can't help but intoxicate himself on the taste of her. It's as though she were made of pure sunlight, leaving warm rays of it dancing in his mouth every time their tongues brush. The pleasant sunshine itself envelopes the crown of her head in a halo of sorts, and if Eugene didn't know any better, he would address her as an angel beneath him.

She had saved his life, after all.

"Eugene?" Stunned by the sudden kiss, Rapunzel's eyes flutter open as their lips break apart, leaning in by a millimeter, as though she were tempted to kiss him again. She controls the impulse, though, gears turning rapidly in her head; her curiosity far greater than her sheer, instinctual lust.

"Yeah, Sunshine?"

She loves this nickname which Eugene has begun to call her in the recent weeks. He still calls her Blondie from time to time out of utter habit – just as he'd initially addressed her on the day they'd first met, bound to a chair in the tower – but something about Eugene calling her 'Sunshine' feels so endearing, so... sweet. So much less to do with the fact that she has the power of the actual sun inside of her, and so much more to do with the warm, metaphorical light which she brings into his heart and into his life.

As though he were a life preserver in this sea of wave-like grass, Rapunzel clutches the collar of his doublet between shaking fingers and stares into his whiskey-colored eyes with a terrified look about her, and Eugene swears that tears are pricking in the corners of her big, green irises.

"Promise me this is forever."

"This?" Eugene pulls back just enough to study her face fully, fairly sure that he knows what Rapunzel intends to say, but not wanting to assume. After all, they've only known one another for a few weeks now.

Does that really matter, though? How long they've been together? Does any of it – the expectations, the rules, the timing – really matter, when they're so in love like this? When it's this real? When he wants her this bad, in every way that he'd once been too afraid to want another person?

Before Eugene can overthink too hard, Rapunzel is confirming his suspicions, a soft smile returning to her lips.

"Us. This feeling. The way that I… the way that I feel when I'm with you." Rapunzel sighs contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed as she pulls Eugene close to nuzzle his nose with hers, their lips brushing like ghosts haunting one another as she speaks in low whispers. "Promise that you'll always be here to make me feel this way. Promise me this is forever."

Rapunzel repeats the heady request, quiet and gentle, and Eugene swears that his heart stops altogether at the feel, and the sound, and the sight of her beneath him in the privacy of the grass – soft rays of warm sunlight sheltering their shadows – asking him for his adoration for the rest of time.

Eugene swallows, hard. He's never promised forever to a woman before. He almost had — almost — when he'd nearly married Stalyan. But that was several years ago now, a disastrous story for another time, and Rapunzel is far more to him than a regret-filled 'almost.' There's something about her – everything about her – which has convinced Eugene that he's going to be so pathetically in love with this girl for the rest of his life. There's something about Rapunzel which tells Eugene that he's never going to have the strength to let her go; that he's never going to want to.

Until his heart gives out (again), Eugene will spend every day thanking the heavens that he hadn't let go of her before: thanking them for giving her to him, thanking them for giving him a second chance. For giving him her to love instead of the desire to chase empty dreams. She's so fucking perfect for him that it sends a pang through Eugene's chest sometimes, especially when he looks at her a little too closely.

Like right now.

And although the promise which she begs to hear as they fall from his lips is every kind of terrifying to pronounce aloud – and although Eugene has always had some lingering commitment issues, which had spread like a disease in his youth from deep-set abandonment issues — he feels so incredibly at peace as he delivers the answer which she so desperately yearns to hear. He feels at peace as the very weighty words leave his lips, unable to be snatched back.

He feels at peace, because they're the truth.

They're the truth, and he wouldn't imagine speaking anything but the truth to her. Eugene knows the heavy weight which promises hold in Rapunzel's heart – she'd told him so, bound to a chair and so desperate to get that stupid crown back, the real reward right under his nose – and he couldn't imagine promising something to her without that promise being attached to every intention of keeping it.

Flynn Rider would have left. He would have left weeks ago, a pretty reward in his pocket for returning the Lost Princess in one piece. But he, Eugene Fitzherbert? He will not. He will not leave her. Not ever.

"I promise." Eugene digs a hand into her choppy hair, the tear-jerking emotion of the moment overtaking him completely as he leans down to kiss her forehead. "I promise this is forever."

He offers his life to her. He offers his hand to her: a hand which would never dare harm her.

She takes it, so glad to know that this hand which she can so blindly trust will always be there, and –

And the wineglass slips from her own hand, red wine spilling on the stark whiteness of the pristine, lacy tablecloth, and a horrified gasp is released from Rapunzel's throat at her sudden loss of control. She is not in the meadow with Eugene, and she is not in Corona at all.

She is having dinner with Charles's family, a wineglass now shattered on the floor underneath the expansive dining table, as if the remnants of her broken heart had been desperate to take a tangible form.

Rapunzel stares down at her soiled dress for a very long time, as though she were in shock; as though she'd just been stabbed in the heart, the spilled wine resembling the blood which would seep from her chest and into her lap if someone truly had taken a knife to her ribcage.

Beside her, Charles puts his hand out to the shaken princess, as if to offer her some sort of empty support.

"Are you quite alright, darling?"

And he looks like he wants to care. He looks like he cares. Really, he does.

But she really wishes that he didn't. If her husband didn't care quite so much, she wouldn't be here.

Looking blankly back at Charles, Rapunzel pictures Eugene then, trusting hand held out to her in the swaying meadow, asking her to dance and promising her forever. She has two hands reaching out to her now, and only one that will do her no harm. Only one that can save her, though they both would like to believe themselves fully capable.

Rapunzel had met Eugene when she was only seventeen, standing on the cliff of eighteen, teetering on the very cusp of adulthood. When she'd met him, Rapunzel had been hanging there from the precipice of her childhood as though it were a fraying string, losing her grip as she stayed in the tower day after day, so desperately wanting a good enough reason to leave, once and for all.

He was that good reason.

The lanterns had been a good reason, too, of course. They had placed in Rapunzel's heart the desire to leave the tower in the first place. But Rapunzel had needed something to give her that final push; that final reason to be brave. And then, Eugene had invited himself into her tower, looking desperately for a place to hide, and he would give her that final push of blind bravery.

She would become his new place to hide, and he, her new home.

Eugene would always be waiting there at the bottom of the tower (both literally and metaphorically), just in case her wings didn't know how to properly fly quite yet. And at first, Rapunzel had thought that she would go back to the tower. After getting the one thing she'd always wanted, she really thought that she'd go back. She'd really thought that she would just want to taste that freedom – to see the lights in the sky –just once. She'd thoroughly convinced herself for years that leaving the tower just once would be enough.

But then, she got a taste of him, and all bets were off. After him, there was no going back. There was no one else that could save her from that place. Not once Eugene did it.

And – in all of his 'A little rebellion is good!' glory – Eugene had so beautifully shoved a tentative, thoroughly gaslit, and entirely courageous Rapunzel from the cliff of that abnormal childhood of hers, had given her the wings that she needed to fly, and had been waiting dutifully there at the bottom. He would always be standing there at the bottom, waiting to catch her, just in case she wasn't ready. Just in case she crashed on the downfall.

But she was. She was ready. And Eugene would always be there to let her know that a little rebellion was, in fact, good.

Healthy, even.

Thinking about the meadow, it hurts now. It hurts, because the memory of that meadow has been tarnished like a slab of iron left out in the rain. It hurts, because Rapunzel's last memory of being there includes Cassandra bursting through the trees, trying desperately to catch her breath while pushing two, horrible words from her heaving lungs:

'He knows.'

The meadow, hard as it had tried, couldn't keep their secrets forever. And although Rapunzel wants to be angry with that special place, she knows that she can't be. It had tried its best to protect her, and so had Eugene.

At the dinner table – dragged out of their own conversation after Rapunzel had spilled her wine like some sort of clumsy child – the eyes of the king and queen of Maddoline train upon Rapunzel just long enough to make her feel overwhelmingly uncomfortable. King George, much to Rapunzel's relief, finally looks away in favor of resuming the heated conversation which he'd been holding with his second-youngest son before Rapunzel had spilled her wine and had forced herself violently back into her own sullen reality.

Perhaps submerging herself in diplomatic conversation – boring as it is – will keep her mind off Eugene.

"Your brothers are doing constructive, noble things with their lives! William is constantly on diplomatic business, securing trade contracts and making a good name for himself as future king of this kingdom. Ryan is in the military, an entirely honorable career! And Charles, at the very least, has married well! A union which has only strengthened the economy and trade relations of this kingdom!"

Retracting his outstretched hand, Charles makes a face at that – clearly offended by the notion that his greatest achievement is marrying the princess of another kingdom – but he doesn't say anything.

"And you. You are asking me to raise the taxes of our nobility and well-off families, simply because you feel there is a need for a government program which will support the underclass?" King George sputters, glaring hard at Thomas as he mirrors his father's distasteful expression. "I will not support those who choose to do nothing better with their lives than suck from my hard-earned prosperity. And I am sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that the hardworking families which you would be asking to give more in taxes, would feel the very same!"

"But the current tax system is completely unfair! It's unjust!" Thomas exclaims, slamming a palm down onto the tabletop, causing the remaining wineglasses to rattle. "As the system stands today, the wealthy barely pay anything, while the lower-class must grovel and scrape for the pennies which you refuse to provide to them!"

"Oh, do not patronize me, boy! You are barely of twenty-three years of age. You have no idea what it means to be king! What it means to run an entire kingdom!" King George bites angrily, shaking a finger at his equally-as-stubborn son. "You have no idea what it's like to try your best to provide for those of your people who are actually hardworking and loyal, only to be stabbed in the back each time you turn around!"

"Father, the attempt on your life… these things are only going to keep happening! If you don't do something about them now, things are only going to get worse!" Thomas argues with a heavy sigh, pointing to the king's bandaged arm. "You must provide for your people. That is your job. All they've ever known here is neglect! Now, it is horribly despicable what happened to you, and there is no excuse for such brash behavior. But, I can empathize with why –"

"Don't you dare." King George seethes at his second-to-youngest child, pointing his fork in Thomas's direction with a wordless threat in his narrowed eyes. "Don't you dare defend those hooligans for attempting to kill me!"

"Now, Father, you know that I am doing nothing of the sort." Thomas responds passionately, the patience of a saint swept across his soft, open face. "But if you treat your citizens well, they will return the favor! If you treat them with respect, they will respect you back. And if you do not –"

"They're immigrants! Bottom of the barrel, groveling immigrants. Immigrants who only came here and infested my lands, because their king could not properly protect them!" King George exclaims, teeth bared and palms slammed flat to the tablecloth. "Well, the worthless bastards are not my problem. They haven't been my problem for twenty-five damn years, and they're not going to be my problem now. Not now, when they've attempted to have me killed!"

"Now, George…" Queen Charlotte warns, shooting a wary look in Rapunzel's direction, as though she were a spy prepared to spill their dysfunctional family secrets to the world. "Darling, it is not fair to generalize these people, and it is not fair to deprive them of their basic rights as citizens of –"

"I do not recall asking for your opinion, Lottie." The king glowers at his soft-spoken wife, obviously aghast that she would have the nerve to interrupt his loud ranting. "I am the king of this kingdom. And I do not seek the opinions of others as to how this kingdom should be run." King George shoots a pointed look at his displeased son before turning back to his quieted wife. "And as far as the backstabbing bottom feeders who immigrated here over two decades ago? They are not citizens of my kingdom, and they will not be addressed as such. Is that clear?"

Queen Charlotte only nods, lowering her gaze as she swallows hard, pushing the peas around on her plate.

"I said, is that clear?" King George white-knuckles the fork in his hand, and Rapunzel can't help but note that her own father – no matter how temperamental he can sometimes be – has never quite taken this type of degrading tone with her mother before.

"Yes, dear." Queen Charlotte murmurs, not looking up from her plate, eyes suddenly finding great fascination in the steamed vegetables there. "I apologize."

Apparently satisfied with his wife's easy submission – for now – the king cocks his head at Rapunzel suddenly, eyes sliding over her with a particular interest, as though he's just found his newest target of interrogation in the midst of his entirely cross mood.

"You've been awfully quiet since arriving here in Maddoline." King George raises an eyebrow, somehow mocking and honoring Rapunzel's title at the very same time. "Has the Princess of Corona not found my kingdom to be suitable enough for her?"

"No, not at all." Rapunzel frowns deeply, looking King George directly in the eye and attempting to lace her voice with all of the confidence that she can possibly muster, fully aware that his desire to unhinge her isn't something which should necessarily be taken personally. "It's just that –"

It's just that your son is a horrible, miserable man, and I can now see exactly who he got it from.

"It's just that I'm a bit homesick." Rapunzel turns to Charles then, staring at him just long enough to make the arrogant prince wiggle uncomfortably in his seat. "This trip was rather abrupt, after all."

For me, that is. I was the only one here who didn't know that we were coming, long before we did.

"Well, dear. We are just delighted to have you." Queen Charlotte smiles warmly, placing an equally-as-warm hand over the young princess's, and Rapunzel sees Thomas there in her bright, blue eyes; kind, and gentle, and all kinds of giving.

Too giving, perhaps, if this notable interaction with her husband is of any consolation.

It appears as though they – Queen Charlotte and Thomas – are everything that Rapunzel wishes Charles could be. But then, Charles has convinced his entire family that she's entirely fucked in the head due to her past life in the tower, and they've believed him without a second thought. They've all been tiptoeing around her for the last several days, as though the princess were merely a fragile piece of chipped china.

And which would be worse, really? A husband who has no mind of his own, or a husband who wants her to be of one mind with him?

"We can only hope that Rapunzel will continue to adjust in our beautiful kingdom." Charles forces a smile toward his mother, though the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It's not even been two weeks, after all."

Charles readjusts his attention at his gruff father now, not bothering to mention the times in which he'd slapped her across the face, or drugged her, or kidnapped her. There is a reason – many reasons – for her quiet, standoffish behavior, and Rapunzel wants to scream out every reason as to why she's been so cold. She wants to shatter each glass at the dining table, wants to take down the chandeliers with her heartbroken cries. She wants to yell at the king that she is not crazy because she'd lived in a tower; not in the way that he implies, and not in the way that Charles has led everyone at this table to blindly believe.

Perhaps she has gone crazy. But it has had nothing to do with the tower and everything to do with him.

"Give her time."

It's a nice sentiment. Wishful thinking on Charles's behalf, perhaps. But time is not what Rapunzel needs. Surely, she needs much more than that. She needs what Charles cannot give.

And isn't that what this all comes down to? What Eugene can give to her and what Charles cannot? Charles can offer to her financial stability, alliance between kingdoms, and royally-blooded children; all of which, if she'd never met Eugene, would probably be great. But Eugene can give her his heart – all of it – and that is everything.

No. There is so much that Charles can apparently give, and yet, so much that she does not need from him. Freedom is what Rapunzel needs. Freedom from Charles, from arranged marriages, and from everything that is set to tear her and Eugene apart. Freedom is what she aches for – just a single breath of it – even though Rapunzel knows that she might never breathe in that freedom ever again. She needs something which only Eugene has ever given to her, and something which everyone else has seemingly tried so very hard to take away.

She'd only been given one, lousy year of freedom and half a breath of barefoot luxury outside of her tower. But that year had been like standing in a room of smoke and mirrors, the fog thick enough to choke on. In hindsight – much like the tower itself – it had all been a lie, and hadn't been true freedom at all! A similar fate would always bestow her, wouldn't it? This fate of being taken and hidden away. And although Rapunzel wants to believe that fate can be outplayed and outsmarted, she's not so sure anymore.

Not unless Eugene is on his way, regardless of the fact that Charles has reminded her countless times that – with each passing day – Eugene is less and less likely to come for her. She's starting to think that Charles believes Eugene to be dead, and this notion has only made her crippling anxiety that much worse.

"I'm most excited for the ball at week's end." Queen Charlotte swallows awkwardly, trying her best to make small talk after the heated argument between her passionate son and temperamental husband.

"Ball?" Rapunzel squeaks quietly, recoiling at such a fully-loaded term.

She used to like balls. Really, she did. It had taken some time for her to grow used to so much attention being placed upon her at once, but she had grown to appreciate the high-collar events quite thoroughly. Royal balls used to mean dressing up in expensive ball gowns that made Eugene choke on his own breath, and it meant sneaking away into broom closets to shove their tongues down one another's throats in the dark. In that first year together, Rapunzel had enjoyed those balls with Eugene and her parents.

That is, until Eugene had punched Charles out at their engagement ball. The sentiment was forever ruined after that, no differently than the name of the meadow has been perpetually tarnished in its own right.

"A political deflection, if you will." King George grins tightly, holding up his bandaged arm. "To ensure my advisors that they have nothing to worry about."

"To ensure your advisors that you can be bought off, you mean?"

King George's head jerks to the eldest of his two sons currently sitting at the dinner table, shooting Thomas a pointed glare before eyeing Charles and Rapunzel, as well.

"You three will be present at this ball. You will be present and pleasant." King George stares directly at Rapunzel then, and Rapunzel wonders if Thomas has yet to spill the beans about finding Charles and herself in the pouring rain the other night, soaked to the bone and screaming at one another. "You will represent this kingdom well, and you will be glad to do it."

Play dress-up for a night and pretend that I'm glad to be here, while your son parades me around like some trophy on his arm? Pretend to be the quiet, timid wife that both you and your precious, spoiled prince want me to be? Fat fucking chance.

"When will the ball be held?" Rapunzel wonders aloud, finally registering the fact that she's going to smell like wine for the next week if she doesn't leave the table and wash up soon.

"Friday evening." Queen Charlotte replies readily, clasping her hands together in front of her in a clear display of excitement for the upcoming event. "And it will be a grand occasion! There will be champagne and exquisite food, we'll find you a beautiful ball gown to wear, and –"

"And you will be on your best behavior." King George interjects with a prolonged, warning look at Rapunzel, though he quickly shifts his gaze toward his sons, as well. "All of you."

Because you think I'm crazy. Because you don't want me to embarrass you in front of your court. Because Charles has convinced you in a mere few days that I've lost my ever-loving mind.

And maybe – just maybe – I finally have.

---

The same maid who'd opened the door to the manor when she and Charles had first arrived – Fallon, Rapunzel recalls – helps the wine-stained princess out of the tub immediately following dinner, having assisted Rapunzel out of her damp dress and urging her to take a warm bath to decompress before bed. Charles has again taken to the smoking room with Thomas and his father for the evening, and will most likely return in a few hours in a half-drunken slump, eyes greedy and intentions impure.

The infamous fire poker – following the incident on the night of the pouring rainstorm which effectively washed out half of the meadows on the Canmore property – has mysteriously been removed from their bedroom. So, much to her dismay, Rapunzel now has very little to fight against Charles with; aside from a few expensive vases and her own bitter, spiteful words.

Standing behind her at the vanity on the far end of the vast bedroom – opposite from the bed and the slightly-ajar balcony doors – Fallon catches Rapunzel's distracted eye in the mirror as the quiet maid brushes softly through her short, still-wet hair. Fallon gently fingers the choppy ends at the nape of Rapunzel's neck with her free hand, as though she were dying to ask why her hair is quite so short. Though, Fallon quickly snatches her hand away, as if she'd thought better of such a violating question.

A heavy silence ensues for another minute or two, and Rapunzel watches curiously as Fallon opens and closes her mouth several times – seemingly searching for the right words – ultimately setting the brush down on the vanity table before them to address Rapunzel directly.

"Princess… I don't mean to intrude, but… may I ask you a personal question?"

"I don't see why not." Rapunzel smiles warmly as she sits up straighter in the vanity chair, though she feels hesitant to agree, unsure of what this reserved stranger might intend on asking her. Fallon – kind as she seems – is still a stranger. "And please, call me Rapunzel."

"Okay, Rapunzel." Fallon returns the smile, though that smile quickly fades as she cocks her head seriously, looking as though she were attempting to deeply analyze the young princess. "Have you ever been in love?"

Similar to the maid's quick-shifted expression, Rapunzel's smile immediately drops from her face in response to this very loaded question. And while she feels in her gut that Fallon is someone worthy of her wary trust – while she wants to trust Fallon – Rapunzel also knows that she can't be too sure about anyone in this place. Not here, not this far from home.

Regardless, Rapunzel so badly wants someone to confide in here in Maddoline. She so badly wants someone who will truly be on her side… someone who won't automatically believe Charles's childish lies that she's completely lost her mind without batting so much as an eyelash!

"Yes." Rapunzel breathes, throat closing up in her torture – the simple thought of Eugene now enough to blow violently through her as though she's nothing more than a weakly-built house of cards – ducking her head a bit to stare at the folded hands in her lap. "Yes, I have been in love."

I still am… and that's why I'm so broken, so beyond repair!

"But not with Prince Charles." Fallon prompts, the comment posing as much more of a confident statement than as a curious question.

Rapunzel sighs so hard that her chest quakes painfully, once again meeting Fallon's curious eyes in the mirror, trying her best not to look ashamed.

"I grew up in a tower. For eighteen years, I never stepped foot outside. Not even once. And then, one day, this… this man came upon my tower, and he… he set me free. He gave up everything for me." Rapunzel swallows down her tears, not wanting to think too much about the sacrifice which Eugene had made that final day in the tower, nor about every sacrifice that he's made for her since then; not wanting to air out the weight and trauma of his sacrifice – kind as Fallon seems – to a complete and utter stranger. "I was in love with him when I was first married to Charles. And I'm still…"

Rapunzel chokes on her own words and regretfully shakes her head, not wanting to continue, if only because it hurts too much to think about the recent downfall of her and Eugene's relationship. It hurts to blame herself, even though she can't help but do so. It hurts to remember how much she misses Eugene, and it hurts to know that – due to her own selfishness – she's potentially lost him forever.

But Fallon's attitude is a complete juxtaposition from Rapunzel's gloomy mood, her face lighting up brightly in the gold-detailed mirror.

"Oh, how romantic!" Fallon gushes like a schoolgirl, giggling when she realizes how loud she's being, attempting to shush herself with a lowered voice. "And I'll bet he's handsome, too!"

In spite of herself – and in spite of the self-deprecating mood which she's fallen so deeply into as of late – Rapunzel can't help but smile at that. No matter how painful it is to picture Eugene's face now, it's a bit bittersweet, as well. She'll always love picturing him, in all of his beautifully-roguish glory.

"He's gorgeous." Rapunzel admits as she giggles softly herself, overtly aware of the healthy blush creeping upon her cheeks. She could never tire of talking about Eugene, no matter how horrible their current situation may be. "Ridiculous as it sounds, he was the first man that I'd ever met. But I've met many men since becoming a princess, and he's by far the most beautiful one that I've ever laid eyes on."

"It's very difficult to find a man in this world who is both beautiful on the outside and willing to give everything up for you." Fallon notes wisely, thoroughly impressed.

"I'm very lucky." Rapunzel agrees, frowning deeply once more and playing distractedly with the hairbrush resting on the vanity top. "I was lucky, before… I mean, we had a whole future together. It was all planned out and everything. I wanted… I wanted to marry him. But then, Charles…"

"Charles came along and did what he does best." Fallon finishes casually for her, sighing deeply as she leans against the back of the vanity chair. "He sabotaged. He ruined things."

How do you know him so well… what else do I not know about my own husband? Does he have secrets of his own? Everyone has secrets, right?

"Something like that." Rapunzel smiles tightly, willing the inevitable tears away before fixating upon Fallon's reflection in the mirror once more. "But now, it's my turn to ask you a question."

"Absolutely." Fallon stands tall, as though she were a soldier reporting for duty.

"What's with the people here?" Rapunzel scrunches her nose distastefully, not sure how to eloquently word her question. "I mean, listening at the dinner table, I couldn't help but notice that everything seems so… tense here. People seem… people seem angry. Why is that?"

With a stressed sigh – chest filling completely, as if to defend herself against Rapunzel's entirely loaded question – Fallon bites at her lip, nervously contemplating how much trouble she's willing to potentially get herself into this evening.

"Twenty-five years ago, many of the citizens of a place called the Dark Kingdom were displaced here in Maddoline." Fallon starts, preparing herself to tell a very complicated, very vague story. "They immigrated here, across the sea, seeking refuge from…"

Fallon trails off, tracing the gold-laced edge at the back of the vanity chair.

"From?" Rapunzel prompts as she turns around in the chair, fully intrigued now.

She's never heard of a place called the Dark Kingdom before. It sounds lonely, and sad, and… forgotten.

"No one knows exactly what happened in the Dark Kingdom. There's a thousand different accounts as to why its citizens were forced to leave. Everyone was just sort of… sent away when the queen died." Fallon shrugs, unable to satisfyingly provide the answers to any of Rapunzel's questions; not even to herself. "Many of them came here. They traveled a long way to find a safe place of refuge, many of them finally settling here in a newly-booming Maddoline."

Rapunzel nods as she leans over the back of the chair, following intently along.

"But it wasn't the safe refuge they were so desperately looking for. They're refugees, immigrants, and they're treated as such." Fallon's face twists angrily, only for a moment. "The royal family sees them as nothing more than a burden. They're not treated like Maddolineon citizens, and many of them are treated no better than dogs. There is…"

Fallon closes her eyes and shakes her head, taking a long moment to ground herself with a wobbly breath.

"There is a great injustice happening in this kingdom. It's been happening for over twenty years now. And I'm afraid that, what with the recent assassination attempt of the king…" Fallon's eyes open then, their deep, trusting brown boring into Rapunzel. And in those eyes, there is a soft, broken kind of pain which Rapunzel wishes she couldn't relate to, though she does. "Things are only going to get worse. Much worse."

"How bad do you think things could get?" Rapunzel questions, suddenly worried for a kingdom which doesn't even belong to her; not for its selfish rulers, but for its people. "I mean, would you rule out an uprising?"

"No. I wouldn't rule one out, per say." Fallon tilts her head to the side thoughtfully, weighing years-worth of tension between people and state. "I don't know that the lower-class would conceivably have the resources to actually support a proper uprising. But I wouldn't go as far as to say that it couldn't very well happen, because it could. I wouldn't go as far as to say that, what with the courageous assassination attempt, they wouldn't at least try."

"I hate the thought of war." Rapunzel comments quietly, playing with her fingers absently in her lap. "I hate the thought of anyone getting hurt that doesn't need to."

Fallon tilts her head even further at this, a faint smile tugging at her lips. The smile soon fades, though, replaced with another prolonged, stress-induced sigh.

"Unfortunately, sometimes people have to get hurt in order to realize how much hurt they can take."

Considering these sage words, Rapunzel looks away for a moment, forcing back the tears which suddenly begin to well in her eyes all over again.

"I think I'm tired of seeing how much I can take."

Attempting to use humor as some sort of sorry coping mechanism, Rapunzel had intended her comment to be a lighthearted joke. But even Fallon can see that the worn princess's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as she picks the hairbrush back up, absently running it through Rapunzel's damp hair with a thoughtful look on her face.

For a fleeting moment, Rapunzel remembers what it had felt like to find an older sister in Cass, and a sharp pang shoots through her already-aching heart.

"You know… I see a lot of myself in you, Rapunzel."

It's now Rapunzel's turn to thoughtfully cock her head at this, because she's always thought of herself as someone so… different. Her circumstance – not only her privileged position of being a princess, but her strange upbringing itself – has always been so far from what the average person could ever find remotely relatable. Perhaps, this is why Rapunzel had always been so desperate to make friends when she'd first returned home to her parents: she had simply wanted someone that could understand. Someone to relate to.

And sure, Eugene had understood, objectively. He'd understood in the sense that he'd been there in the tower with her; something which no one else in her life could hold claim to. He'd understood in the way that he'd lost a lot that final day in the tower, just like she had. But while Rapunzel had lost the woman who she'd thought to be her mother for eighteen years, Eugene had lost his life for her. And for that – for his sharing of that experience with her, even though he didn't have to – Rapunzel will always be grateful.

But to understand what it had meant to feel so trapped in the way that she'd been for eighteen long years? To know that someone else knows what that sort of confinement feels like? Fresh out of the tower, Rapunzel had wanted that. She so desperately had wanted that. And until now – until Fallon – it has seemed as though no one has ever quite understood – fully understood – in the way that Rapunzel has always so blindly craved.

"What do you mean?" Rapunzel murmurs, equally terrified and joyous to know that someone might understand what it feels like to be her.

Fallon sighs another heavy sigh, smiling sadly, and Rapunzel swears that the young maid's chest might cave in if the look in her eyes were any grimmer; if her frequent sighs were any harsher.

"I came to work for the royal family when I was only fifteen years old. When I first met Prince Charles, he…" Fallon picks at her nails and shakes her head – long, dark ponytail rippling against her back in a wave-like motion – as if to shake a barrage of oncoming tears away. "He saw a young, timid girl in me. A girl who he could… who he could take advantage of."

Rapunzel pulls back slightly – sharply – as though Fallon's unexpected confession has pricked her with the edge of a freshly-sharpened sword, jerking away from her comfortable place against the chair's back.

"What do you mean… take advantage of?"

You know what she means. You know exactly what she means, but you're just too afraid to be right. You're too afraid to relate to her in this way. You want to relate to someone – to anyone – about what it means to feel trapped. But about this? About what it means to no longer belong to yourself?

Suddenly, Fallon pulls her gaze from her bitten-down nails and meets Rapunzel's hard-pressed frown with watery eyes, her voice dropped to a shaky whisper as the maid recalls the vague, horrid memory.

"I think you know what I mean."

The two girls stare at one another for a painfully long, agonizing minute. Their broken souls are a mirror of the other, if only for this brief moment in time. Rapunzel can physically feel her heart aching behind her ribcage, can feel her throat beginning to close in on itself and go painfully dry, words rubbing her raw like sandpaper.

And for a painfully long, agonizing minute, she feels ashamed for pitying herself like she's been.

"Fallon, I –" What? You're what? "I'm so sorry. I had no idea –"

Fallon quickly leans down then, hands warm and soft, taking Rapunzel gently by the shoulders as though she were comforting a slightly-younger sister.

"Please, Rapunzel, do not apologize to me. I do not say any of this for your pity." Fallon gingerly shakes her shoulders, as if to snap Rapunzel from some sort of trance. "You are the greatest victim here. Please believe that. You've had your entire life stolen from you. Your home, your love. He took that. He took that from you."

Rapunzel only nods, too shocked to speak, though completely unsurprised that she's not the only person who Charles has attempted to take advantage of in such a disgusting, cowardly way. Apparently, Fallon hadn't been quite lucky enough to find a handy, nearby fire poker, and hadn't had fate on her side that day. And for this, Rapunzel feels lucky, and she's not quite sure what to do with this disorienting feeling.

They are two women who have been brought by fate to the hands of a man who would seek to determine just how much hurt they could take.

Fallon – shoulders visibly slumping as though she's just been relieved of years-worth of emotional baggage – runs a gentle hand through Rapunzel's freshly brushed hair, as if to comfort her wordlessly. She suddenly holds up a finger in the mirror, eyes lighting up with what appears to be a bright idea.

"One second. I'll be right back." Fallon suddenly turns away, darting from the room and calling over her shoulder as she runs out the door, black skirts swishing behind her. "Don't go anywhere!"

As if I have anywhere else to go. Rapunzel muses with a begrudged tone about her, though she's grateful to have found an apparent friend in the sweet, young maid.

After several minutes of quiet but comfortable loneliness, Fallon haphazardly darts back into the room, shutting the door securely behind her once more. With a wide grin, she proudly bounds over to the vanity, dropping a leather book into Rapunzel's awaiting, unexpecting lap.

"I want you to have this." Fallon beams over Rapunzel's shoulder, leaning a hand on the back of the chair at the vanity as Rapunzel turns back around to face the mirror.

Tentatively, Rapunzel opens the leather-bound book in her lap, discovering a plethora of thick, blank pages as she gently leafs through it.

"It's a… a journal?" Surprised, Rapunzel fights back another wave of annoying tears, instantly thinking about her mother and the journal which she'd lovingly gifted to her when Rapunzel had first moved into the palace back in Corona. "You want to give me a journal?"

"Yeah, it…" Fallon's smile fades a little, though not altogether, and she reaches over the chair's back to gently run her fingers over the leather cover of the journal herself, looking down at it fondly. "I know it's old. A little dusty, even. But it was my grandmother's, you see. And because of her, it holds a special magic inside. My grandmother gave it to my mom before she left from the Dark Kingdom."

Clearly reeling from the overload of new information – not quite sure what to make of it all – Rapunzel quickly turns in the vanity chair to fully face Fallon again.

"Wait. Wait a minute." Gears visibly turning in her head, Rapunzel scrunches her eyebrows together, trying to make some sense of Fallon's story. "You… you mean, you're from there?"

Fallon chuckles gently at Rapunzel's sudden intrigue, not entirely used to having someone who cares enough to ask.

"Well, my parents were actually the ones to emigrate from the Dark Kingdom. My grandparents passed soon before my parents left, which is why the journal was originally left to my mother before being passed down to me. I came to work for the royal family with the hopes of helping my immigrant family survive… but I was born here, in Maddoline. So, unlike my parents, I'm actually considered a full citizen here. Technically." Fallon explains eloquently, and Rapunzel can tell by the sad look in her eyes that there's much more grief and heartache that her family has been through than Fallon is currently willing to admit. "Anyway, I want you to have it."

Me? You want me to have it? A beautiful family heirloom? Why? So that I can destroy it, in the same way that I've destroyed everything else I've put my hands on lately? In the same way that I've destroyed my parents' hearts, and Eugene, and myself –

'There is more in you.'

There is more in you than this current pain! You can get through this! You can find your way back home again. You will. You've done it once before! You can find your way back home, you can find your way back to Eugene, and you can –

No, I can't! I can't do this! Who am I fooling? I'm getting comfortable here. I'm getting far too comfortable! I can't… I can't do this, I can't trustanyone! I'm stuck here, and I'm never going to find my way back home, and I just have to accept my fucking fate for what it is!

"Fallon, I… I can't accept this. Something left to you by your passed grandmother?" Ashamedly, Rapunzel lifts the journal from her lap, attempting to place it back into Fallon's clasped hands. "I can't –"

I can't trust you, but I want to. Believe me, I want to!

"Please. Please take it." Fallon briefly accepts the journal from a shaken Rapunzel, though she quickly sets it onto the vanity and grasps Rapunzel's hands in hers, guiding them to wrap tightly around her own fingers. "I'll be offended if you don't take it! I really, really want you to have it."

Rapunzel's eyes dart from the journal and back to Fallon's warm, open face, and finally, to their intertwined hands. And for a moment, she's reminded of how very similar the worn, brown leather is to the journal that she has back at home. The journal which is busting at the seams with sketches, thoughts, and dreams: the dreams which she'd been forced to leave behind, weeks ago now. Rapunzel is reminded of the journal which had been gifted to her by her own mother when her world – like right now – had been turned upside-down so painfully fast. That journal had been an outlet for an anxious, overwhelmed version of herself, and a place to keep those precious dreams hidden and safe.

Safe from people like Charles; people who would be hell-bent on stealing them.

And maybe – if she takes this journal from Fallon now – Rapunzel will be able to find a way to remain sane here in Maddoline. Maybe her dreams of marriage to Eugene and someday ruling Corona with him by her side are long tarnished. But maybe – with the help of the journal – she can still live in that dreamscape which she'd created in her mind long ago, if only to use it as a pathetic coping mechanism to escape an even-more-pathetic reality.

"Are you sure?" Rapunzel presses, skeptical enough to not want to accept or believe in Fallon's kindness, and desperate enough to yearn for it.

She is a princess scorned, a princess who cannot afford to trust anyone, and a princess who so badly wants someone to believe in.

"I'm positive. I've had it for years. And look!" Fallon reassures Rapunzel in her growing excitement, reaching for the journal from the vanity and flipping through it hastily, holding up a random page in front of Rapunzel's face. "It's still blank! I have nothing to say, nothing to write. But you! I have a feeling that it'll be in much better hands with you! Rapunzel, you have a story to tell!"

But why is my story any more worth telling than yours?

The young maid smiles widely then as she continues on excitedly, clearly aware of Rapunzel's growing skepticism as a newly-mischievous look glitters in Fallon's dark irises.

"Tell your story to it. Tell your story to the journal." Fallon's eyes are almost pleading now, begging Rapunzel to accept this gift which would seem so simple to anyone else, yet holds much more sentimental value to Rapunzel than she can properly explain without sobbing about how much she misses her mother. "You can write to your love! Give him the journal to read when you're back home with him. You can write about how much you miss him. And just in case you forget the words when you're face to face again, they'll be right there. They'll be right there for him, safe in the journal. Waiting."

Fallon gently sets the journal back into Rapunzel's lap and wraps her hands around the leather cover in a final goodbye, as if Rapunzel's fingers had been the leather book's rightful home all along.

"Take it." Fallon pleads one last time, nodding encouragingly. "Please."

"Thank you." Rapunzel miserably holds back her tears and nods in agreement, too emotionally exhausted to argue the point any further. "Thank you, Fallon. This does mean a lot to me. I don't think you understand…"

Rapunzel wavers and looks away, thick, threatening tears closing around her throat before she can go on.

"Please, there's no need to thank me. You've been through so much, and I just…" Fallon smiles an empathetic smile, showing her wordless understanding. "I know how Charles can be. I just want to help in whatever way that I can. Which, with my status, isn't much. I know that. But –"

Rapunzel quickly cuts Fallon off as she swipes at her watery eyes, placing a gentle hand to Fallon's shoulder, effectively hushing her.

"You've done more than enough for me."

"I'll give you some time alone." Fallon murmurs softly with an assured pat to Rapunzel's shoulder, walking over to the window to pry it open, the chirping grasshoppers of the rolling meadows beyond the manor singing proudly into the night.

The manor is plenty warm enough for an open window this evening. So warm, in fact, that Rapunzel is thankful for the fresh breeze now wafting through the stuffy bedroom. At the door, Fallon smiles over her shoulder one final time, turning back for a brief moment.

"Give him hell, Princess."

Wordlessly, Rapunzel watches Fallon go, turning away from the door only when it clicks satisfyingly behind the young maid. The soft, late-night breeze catches the frayed ends of Rapunzel's choppy hair, drawing her nearer to the window. Spring is upon Maddoline and endless blooming is inevitable, and Rapunzel prays that she – like the flowers which threaten to burst through the ground with each new morning – will find a way to bloom in the dirt where she has been planted.

Rapunzel prays that, somehow, she may bloom where she has been planted. She prays that she may rise, rather than continue to be stepped on. She wants to outgrow Charles, outgrow this sense of endless emptiness, and outgrow this crippling pain.

Moving to the desk situated before the open window, Rapunzel runs her hand over the thick, weathered leather of the journal which she had taken with her from the vanity. Sitting down at the desk of fine, mahogany wood and reaching for the ink pen which awaits her there, Rapunzel opens the journal to its first blank page.

She sighs heavily to herself, not sure if this is a story that she wants to tell. But then, even the greatest pain must be remembered, and even the most horrific of stories must be passed down through the generations, like some sort of twisted folklore. And someday, perhaps, Rapunzel will be able to tell her children about all of the things which she's endured in her lifetime.

Someday – thanks to her trusty, leather-bound journals – she will be able to remember. She will be able to remember all of the things which she's overcome, to let her children know that they can overcome anything, too.

But children, Rapunzel knows, will only come if Eugene comes, too. They will only come if he's on his way now, though she's too afraid to admit the entirely likely possibility that he isn't. She's too afraid to admit to herself that something horrible has possibly happened to him at the hands of her selfish, deplorable husband.

To document her pain tonight – in the thickest fog of it – feels ludicrous, in a way. Is there any healing to be had here, really? Rapunzel wants so badly to heal, but is that even possible? Is that healing possible, when she's still here? Or is it – like her future with Eugene – no more than a crushed pipedream? Is there any healing to be found, any peace to be had, when her heart has been torn apart and her dreams shattered so brutally that they're cutting deeper and deeper into her sensitive skin with each waking moment?

There is nothing for her here! Sure, there are endless meadows and beautiful vineyards which, under very different circumstances, her fingers would be absolutely itching to paint. But there is no hope, no healing, and no peace in her heart!

There is nothing and she is nothing.

She is nothing without Eugene. There is no healing, no time, and no journal which can change that. If self-pity could mend her heart, God, it would, because she is drowning in it tonight. Rapunzel is drowning in it, because at the very least, this pity actually tastes like something. It tastes like something, when every other emotion that Rapunzel has felt since first arriving in Maddoline has left her absolutely numb.

Rapunzel glares out the window before her, glares at the illumining moon against the darkened sky, and hates to know that Eugene just might be staring at this very same moon now, thinking of her, too. She hates to know that Eugene might also be thinking about – wallowing over – this utter lack of hope, and the pure emptiness of their hearts in the midst of this brutal separation, and the regret-filled guilt which they've both conjured up in place of any happiness that had once overflowed from their souls.

There had been a time when they'd run through meadows like the ones stretching before Rapunzel now, there had been a time when they'd had dreams of a future together, and there had been a time when they'd healed from everything they'd once gone through in the tower.

But now, they're oceans apart and their hearts are a mess, and their dreams don't mean a fucking thing. And there is a blank journal in front of her, yet she has nothing to say. She has nothing left to say, because Rapunzel has used all of her words on pleading with the council, and pleading with her parents, and pleading with Eugene to stay. She'd pleaded with him, and he'd listened! Like the blind, perfect lover that Eugene is – against his own better judgment – he'd listened. He'd listened, because he's never been able to tell her 'no.'

Even when 'no' could've saved them.

And because he'd listened – because she'd convinced him to have an affair with her – there is no fucking hope. She's been down this road before! She's already been taken like this once. But now, this time, it's worse. It's worse, because this time, she is going to remember what it felt like to be gone. She is going to remember this pure agony of separation, and what it was like to be without her parents, and what it was like to truly be loved, only to have it ripped away. She is going to remember all of it.

That is, if Rapunzel even finds her way back home.

That is, if Eugene isn't strung up high right now, hanging from a noose in the way that Charles has probably fantasized about from the moment they'd met. Eugene – beautiful, loyal, perfect Eugene – as far as Rapunzel knows, is hurt far beyond his ability and desire to get to her. He might be hurt, or worse! Worse, he might be dead. Dead again, dead for good.

And this time, he won't be able to die in her arms.

And maybe Charles is right. Maybe she shouldn't lie awake every night, naively waiting for Eugene to come for her, and maybe she shouldn't hold her breath for this hope which Rapunzel wants so badly to feel in her heart. This hope which she so desperately wants to hang onto. Maybe Eugene isn't coming for her after all, and maybe she doesn't deserve for him to. Maybe she never did deserve him!

Rapunzel wants there to be light. There is hope in light. Her mother has told her a thousand times about the hope which the sun had brought to her when Rapunzel had gone missing for the first time. She so badly wants there to be so much light that her eyes burn and go dry. So much light that she finally feels something again.

Grabbing frantically for the delicate, lace curtains which frame the open window, Rapunzel yanks hard, pulling the curtains down in one, swift motion. She aches so badly for the sun – prays for the rays of hope to kiss the windowpane – but there is no light. Not here, not in this place. Here, there is only dusk falling upon the rolling hills of Maddoline, so vast that Rapunzel couldn't find her way home if she wanted to; and God, she wants to. Here, everyone thinks she's insane, and everyone sees the world through Charles's eyes, and –

In the midst of her paralyzing, angry thoughts, Rapunzel takes the first thing that she can find – which just so happens to be the newly-acquired journal – into her hands. Without thinking, she grabs a fistful of pages from the very front of the open, leather book, ripping them from the spine with a satisfying tear. Short, pathetic pieces of string are left behind at the spine, frayed and sad looking – broken parts where the pages had once been bound to the very middle of the leather book – and Rapunzel throws the loose pages over her shoulder, watching triumphantly as they flutter aimlessly to the floor.

Some of the pages had been torn at their halfway mark, not making a clean rip from the spine. In the journal, there is a mess of half-ripped pages left behind and loose string hanging from the middle, as though its very heart has been torn from the book's leather chest.

My heart has been ripped from my chest! It's my heart that is frayed, and lost, and lying pathetically on the floor with nowhere left to go! How am I supposed to write about this? How am I supposed to put words to this pain, when I want nothing more than to simply drown myself in it?

'There is more in you.' A quiet voice whispers, prodding annoyingly at Rapunzel's conscience.

No, there isn't. There is nothing left inside of me, nothing left to save! I have ruined us – Eugene and me – haven't I? Our dream, I've ruined it for good! I yanked at its fraying edges until it ripped apart, because I was too selfish to just let him go! I could've saved him, I could've gotten him out! I could've saved him from Charles, and I could've saved him from this life that I've been forced to live, and I could've saved him from this pain! This pain that he has never deserved! He allowed me – me! – to look into his heart, and I saw the little, orphan boy inside of him.

And what have I done to protect that little boy? Nothing! I have nothing, and I have done nothing!

Desperate for a match to set herself ablaze, Rapunzel frantically searches the spacious bedroom, wandering aimlessly around the fireplace in search of one. In this moment, the broken princess wants nothing more than to light the journal which Fallon has only just so graciously gifted to her on fire.

I want everything to go up in flames. All of it. This manor, Charles. Even myself. I don't want to be a princess, I don't want to be a martyr. I want to go up in flames like Eugene and I did, and I want Eugene to know that I'm so sorry for everything that I've put him through, and –

Eugene!

'You can write to your love.'

Pausing her mindless, erratic pacing in front of the fireplace, Rapunzel leans her hand against the cool brick there and recalls with a shiver the way that Charles had attempted to take advantage of her against this very fireplace only mere days ago. Eyeing the desk and the abused journal on the far side of the long bedroom, Rapunzel resumes her anxious pacing, bare feet padding against the floor, making her think of the sneaky way in which she used to tiptoe to Eugene's bedroom in the middle of the night; back when things weren't simple by any means, but were much more simple than this.

Rapunzel finally halts in front of the awaiting desk once more, taking in a deep breath of fresh air from the open window.

To write, or not to write?

But what if he doesn't want to hear this story? What if he doesn't want to hear this story, because he's already living it, too?

'Oh, but what if he does?'

Perhaps, if Rapunzel writes about her pain – if she writes as though she's talking to him – she will be able to find some healing here. Not in Maddoline, per say, but between the ink-stained pages. After all, she had enjoyed writing in the journal which her mother had given to her when she'd first moved into the castle in Corona. And while the pain of reliving her time – especially that final, traumatic day – in the tower had hurt like hell, it had hurt less than never talking about it at all would have; even if Rapunzel had technically only been talking to herself.

So Rapunzel – heart pounding in her chest from the sheer anxiety of her swirling, messy thoughts – bends down to gingerly collect off the floor the dozen-or-so pages which she'd ruefully ripped from the journal, placing them neatly on the mahogany desk beside the open-faced book. She calmly sits back down, smoothing the abused pages of the heirloom the best that she can, as if to wordlessly apologize for assaulting the leather journal so suddenly and so selfishly.

She knows what it's like to be treated in such a brash, selfish manner. She knows what it's like to be healed from such treatment, and she wants that. She wants that again.

With a newfound focus, Rapunzel tucks her hair behind her ears and reassumes the ink pen, which had also found its way to the floor in her emotional outburst. She composedly flips to a clean, un-ripped page, running her hand over it momentarily and appreciating the quality of the paper. There, Rapunzel recollects her thoughts with a heavy breath, before finally touching the pen to the thick, patiently waiting paper. She silently prays that this journal is half as patient and half as understanding as her journal back home; prays that it's just as much of a friend as she wants it to be.

As she needs it to be.

There are many secrets which Rapunzel's journal back home has quietly held for her, in the very same way that any dear friend would hold a secret: like a sacred promise, meant to be kept forever. And although secrets have gotten Rapunzel into such trouble as of late, perhaps a few more couldn't hurt.

Besides, what does she have to lose now, really? Even her dearest dreams no longer belong to her, her worst secrets likely aired to her very own kingdom like dirty laundry. Perhaps a journal cannot fix her – not fully – but it's not as though she's capable of fixing herself right now, either.

So, with ink and paper on her side, Rapunzel will in fact give her husband hell.

Dear Eugene,

I'm writing this letter to you for the sake of my sanity, with the hopes that someday, it'll actually find its way to you…

---

'Here is my hand, he said.

Here is my hand that will not harm you.'

Louise Gluck; Descending Figure

AN: Hi, my lovely readers! I hope you've enjoyed this emotionally charged chapter! Our poor Rapunzel sure needs a hug, doesn't she? Thankfully, she'll be getting one very soon… from a very certain someone.

Did you notice the Easter egg that was Darce's name in Chapter 27 in the Stolen Maiden with Eugene? Slowly – but surely – things are starting to come together now… and starting to set up the plot for Book 2!

Fallon… The Dark Kingdom, you say? *smiles evilly*

So. Who's ready for a masquerade ball?