"Oh, Mother, you didn't have to!" gasped Rapunzel, cradling the paint.

In truth, she hadn't, but when Rapunzel had asked for shells to make paint, Gothel had reasoned that if she timed the trip correctly, Rapunzel might be so caught up with her new paints that she might ignore the "stars" that so conveniently appeared each year on her birthday, in the same spot. Gracious, if she had to endure one more question about those stars- perhaps she ought not to have told Rapunzel the day of her actual birthday? – but then, that would be lying.

Rapunzel, meanwhile, had not heard her, but had pulled out a small paintbrush, and was already testing the paint, lovingly, on her hand.

"Don't waste it," Gothel said, indulgently, and Rapunzel put her brush down almost instantly.

"I won't, Mother," she said solemnly. Then her face lit up in an instant, almost as if she was a chameleon, and she cradled the box of paint. "For my birthday! Paint! Oh, Mother, you really didn't have to!"

"Well, I didn't," Gothel agreed, and laughed at the way Rapunzel's face crumbled. And really, wasn't she just being truthful? It had been nice to leave the tower for three days, had been nice to see other people and know she was prettier than half the women she encountered (she'd definitely been far prettier than that baker's wife), and Rapunzel's squeals and assumptions that Gothel had made the journey purely for her were getting grating. But then, her face stayed crumbled, and it seemed as though her head was sinking lower by the second. "Oh, darling, don't take it so seriously!"

Rapunzel still did not look up. Her shoulders drooped slightly, and she quietly placed the paint on the table.

"Well, thank you, Mother," she said, almost inaudibly.

"Rapunzel," Gothel snapped, a little more sharply than she initially intended. "What have I said about mumbling?"

Rapunzel's head shot up, defiantly, but her eyes were watery, and something about the wateriness of her eyes frustrated Gothel even more.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said, enunciating each syllable loudly.

Gothel sighed and took her cloak off, walking to stand behind Rapunzel, reaching a hand out to stroke her hair.

"Come, petal," she said, gently, and was almost surprised by how kind she sounded. "It was nearly three days that I was gone, and I hadn't even thought of that journey until you mentioned that you wanted paint, or shells to make paint. All I've asked for you since has been a song. Must you be angry at Mother?"

Rapunzel shook her head slightly, then quickly whirled and flung her arms around Gothel's waist.

Such a child.

And part of that was grating, but part of it was enlivening, too. It was easy to feel young, even younger than she looked, when Rapunzel was so young. (It was also easy to feel a little anxious, looking in the mirror, for Rapunzel had passed her gangly stage and was beginning to grow into her body, but if she had done one thing well in raising the girl, it was in quashing her vanity. Rapunzel was still adamant that Gothel was her ideal of beauty, and with that, Gothel was content to rest). And even those declarations were so infinitely childlike, Gothel could not recall feeling such emotions in the many centuries since she had been.

Such a child.

But she was not sure whether she felt frustration in that thought anymore, or if it was just a thought. For Rapunzel was merely a child still; thirteen years old, but she still had the self-consciousness, the shyness and the untamed exuberance of a young child barely into his or her tenth year.

"Oh, darling, you wouldn't survive out there," Gothel sighed, stroking Rapunzel's thick, golden hair. "Aren't you lucky that Mother will always look out for you?"

"I love you," Rapunzel blurted, from somewhere near Gothel's lower left ribs.

Gothel laughed, twirled a hand through the silken ropes of sun.

"You have the order wrong," she chided, gently, and Rapunzel pulled away and laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm being silly, Mother," she said, and picked up the paints from the table. "I'm so thankful you made that journey, even though it must have been so hard dealing with people on the road."

"Oh, petal," Gothel laughed, and pinched Rapunzel's left cheek, still soft and slightly round, a remnant of her infancy. "Mother is quite capable, you know."

Unlike you.

"I know," said Rapunzel, meekly, as though hearing the unspoken words. "But thank you, Mother. These paints are going to be perfect."

"Of course they are," said Gothel brightly, absently patting Rapunzel on the shoulder. "I helped you make them, didn't I?"

And she will forget about the stars, Gothel thought, and smiled, pulling Rapunzel up from her chair.

"I love you," she cooed.

Rapunzel nuzzled against her shoulder, allowing the sunlight to smile on her soft, smooth crown.

"I love you more," she said, with such conviction in her heart that Gothel felt a rush of triumph (you stole my flower from me, King, but your daughter loves me more!).

"I love you most," Gothel said, smiling, and pressed a kiss to Rapunzel's hair, closing her eyes and inhaling the sun-sweetness.

Rapunzel stayed there for a few moments more before pulling away, picking up her paint with a wide smile, and bounding up to her room.

Two days later, when Gothel glimpsed the white painted stars, high on the alcove in Rapunzel's room, she could not quite explain the sharp, bitter sensation that plunged and twisted through her as though she was a poppet doll.

A/N: It's so hard to make Gothel's motivations make sense, based on what we get in the movie! I know that she travels with secrecy in the film, but it makes very little sense if her motivation is youth and beauty, yet she doesn't even want people to notice her or if she doesn't desire to look sideways and judge others against herself.

On another note, maybe two more chapters of this fic remain. I'm beginning to get a little Gothel-ed out haha!