"Here, flower," Gothel said tiredly, staring at the wall and hoping her voice still sounded sweet. She felt Rapunzel look at her dubiously, watched from the lower corner of her eye as Rapunzel stared at the spoon of soup and strained her head backwards as though the green lentil mush could somehow attack her.
"No, no, it's good. See?"
After taking a mouthful, Gothel began to understand why Rapunzel squirmed away. She was not a fan of lentils at the best of times, but being in a tower made it slightly difficult to procure nice, fresh food at regular intervals. Their mutual confinement had resulted in an increase in dried, longer-lasting foodstuffs, but had not, as of yet, produced any memorable delicacies.
"Come on, flower," she cooed tiredly, lowering her eyes so that the slightly-larger infant was now the focal point of her gaze. "Open your mouth! Ye- e- NO, RAPUNZEL!"
A green vomit-like jet burst forth from Rapunzel's lips and landed squarely on the chest of her dress and Rapunzel emitted a little howl.
Why did nobody write of how much washing one would have to do with a child? How much patience was required to feed a one year-old?
Not for the first time, Gothel felt her simmering resentment for the vapid king and queen rise to a full throttled boil. They wouldn't have to do this- not kings and queens, they wouldn't have to deal with the frustrations of actually nursing a child! They would have cooed over how cute their insipid child was and left her to be. And left her hair be.
Rapunzel's hair.
The flower, her flower.
Sighing, Gothel looked at the mirror she had strategically placed on the wall opposite her current seating position.
A slightly tired woman stared back at her, but the woman was lovely, with her tumbling dark curls, her lovely, large dark eyes, her beautiful pale face and her slender figure.
Yes, Gothel thought, smiling, and the smile grew as she saw the woman's smile grow, too; yes, you are quite lovely.
Rapunzel, in the meantime, had quietened down, and was holding her hands out towards Gothel.
"Ma!" she cried excitedly, bouncing her first upon the wooden plank Gothel had figured as a haphazard table. "Ma!"
"Sh, sh," Gothel murmured, still staring at the woman.
The woman had lovely lashes, to be sure, and lovely features, but- was her chin perhaps- too pointy? She bent her head critically; the woman in the mirror did, too- if she smiled, yes- there, it looked beautiful and delicate. But a little wider- no, no, that made her chin look far too small, and the thought made her frown.
"Ma?"
Rapunzel's voice had taken on a worried, whiny tone.
"Oh, hush, child," Gothel said briskly.
Glancing once more at the mirror, she saw the woman's fine, high cheekbones, her perfect, clear skin, and smiled.
"Flower," she said sweetly, "shall I brush your hair and sing?"
She was not sure just how much Rapunzel actually understood of that, but the child began bouncing upon the pile of books, looking for all the world like a flower in a breeze. Her golden hair flared out, looking so wonderfully like the petals of the flower Gothel had so cherished, and she was even (purely by chance) wearing a green dress. The likeness was such that it was almost as if she was in the field, was kneeling by the stem with its glowing top, and Gothel felt the gentle breeze on her face, felt that warm recognition that glowed to her (perfectly manicured) fingertips, and almost impulsively, her hand was stroking Rapunzel's gentle head, and her voice was tender as she sang.
The familiar glow of gold, unrivalled even by the rare golden linings that seized the evening clouds, began to fill the room, dimming out the sunlight from the crevasses of the walls, and Gothel felt, even if she did not see, the sigh of relief in her bones as that horrible feeling she sometimes had (I am a smile stretched across wary, battered bones) began receding, first a shuffle, then a a step, then a scamper; and when she ceased her song, the air vibrated, almost pulsed, with youth.
"Good petal," she breathed, still stroking Rapunzel's hair, "my good, good little one."
Rapunzel smiled up at her, a look of such adoration and trust in her eyes that Gothel was not sure whether to feel more scorn for this stupid creature that could not tell its own mother from another woman, or to allow herself that whisper of pleasure in the sheer amount of trust the child seemed to have in her.
Well, perhaps not trust. Perhaps it was just the adoration. After all, who did not like to be adored? Looking once again in the mirror, head cocked to one side, Gothel thought that she had every reason to be adored.
Yes, that was it, of course. She liked that the child knew to appreciate her properly. Flowers could not look so adoringly at one.
Rapunzel, in the meantime, seemed to have taken the pause as a sign that her meal was over, and was attempting to crawl out of her chair.
"No, Rapunzel, no!"
In a flurry so loud Gothel was sure her pounding heart would be felt in the heart of the kingdom, Rapunzel climbed to the edge of the table, and Gothel saw the image, as clear in her mind's eye as though it was happening before her- Rapunzel falling, her head grazing the table, Rapunzel falling, falling- her eyes wide, arms reached out to Gothel, who she now called Ma by habit- reaching out, but falling- and the thud, and her flower would die, the glowing would end, and she would be left with a dead young child with lank, lifeless brown hair, in a tall tower, left to age and wrinkle and (die)- no one would care, no one would know.
Rapunzel let out a wail, and it seemed to Gothel that her wail seemed to stop time- or had a strange effect upon time- for an excruciating hand seemed to reach and grasp at her throat, twisting with painful slowness- but somehow, her body was faster, and she was hurtling to Rapunzel, had her arms outstretched, caught her midair, and went crashing to the ground.
In that moment when her body fell with a rather resounding smack on the cold, hard tiles, Gothel resolved to trade her shell collection for a set of thick carpets. Already, she could feel the bruises forming (battered tired bones) crying out in a thousand voices like pins in her ears.
"Come, flower, shine," she intoned desperately, smoothing Rapunzel's hair, "... something something..."
Rapunzel herself calmed down, perhaps because the song was so familiar to her, or perhaps (as Gothel liked to think) because when her hair was stroked she remembered, remembered when she had been Gothel's and only Gothel's (not stolen by king or queen or wrenched away by brutish soldiers), and she began making tiny noises of tiredness, opening her mouth and screwing up her face in miniature yawns.
"Yes, I feel that way myself," Gothel muttered, shifting Rapunzel to one arm and slowly lifting herself off the ground. "Let's rest now, shall we?"
She had stood up and was about to to the bedroom when something registered in the corner of her eye, and she looked down, half startled, at the offending green mush that had started the entire debacle.
A slightly nauseous wave rose in her stomach, and her face twitched involuntarily. Lentils truly were not worth it.
"Come, flower," she said, shifting Rapunzel so that she was easier to carry, "time for you to have a nap. Come dinner, we'll try something else- I will make hazelnut soup. That will be much nicer, won't it?"
She felt Rapunzel 's arms weave their way around her neck, felt her nod sleepily against her neck, felt her small nose nuzzle against her earlobe, felt something- her lips- press together against her lower neck, and withdraw, press once more, and withdraw.
Startled, Gothel realised that Rapunzel was giving her tiny kisses.
"Come, flower," she said hurriedly, speeding up towards the bedroom and removing Rapunzel to place her upon a set of blankets, "time to sleep."
She began stroking Rapunzel's hair, murmuring nonsense words and memories of half songs she had recalled from the hazy time when she herself had been young.
She was not sure how long she stayed, but she must have stayed longer than she planned, for when she looked up from Rapunzel's sleeping form, the shadows of the trees were already long across the grass, had begun tumbling across the high, narrow windows, were already whispering at the tiles of the tower. Rapunzel stirred, gave a yawn, and blinked owlishly with her over-large eyes.
"Ma?" she said, tiredly. Or perhaps it was "Mm- ah?". It seemed to be one of the few sounds Rapunzel was capable of making. "Ma?"
"I'm here," Gothel said, sighing, and picked Rapunzel up. "Let's go now, shall we? Will you eat dinner this time? Mother will make hazelnut soup."
Rapunzel buried her face against Gothel's neck once more, her nose pressing uncomfortably against one of Gothel's arteries. Each pulse sucessively swelled and reeled and fought down one side of Gothel's mind, and she found herself blinking by the time she reached the cupboard with the hazelnuts, found herself massaging her neck after depositing Rapunzel on the floor (where she could not, this time, fall).
It was only when she was stirring the pot, the fragrant fume of hazelnuts singing through the room, that she realised she had called herself Mother.
A/N: To be honest, I'm not really happy with this, but I figured it's better to have it up here than languishing on my computer. I shall probably rehaul this entire chapter soon, but for now, it is here.
Also, concerning the succession issue I raised last chapter: I imagine that the King and Queen dealt with the issue fairly easily; succession acts seem fairly common in history. I might clean that point up, though. It depends on how motivated I am haha.