The Curse of the Moon

by VeraMarie18

Life at the palace isn't happily ever after. With her past haunting her, rumors of being an impostor, and the threat of war pushing down on Rapunzel's shoulders, she must find a way to solve everything - even if it may come at the cost of someone she loves, and even if it means using the new power she obtained - a power that may destroy everything she has left.

3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When I excited the bathroom, Eugene was already out of bed. The white cotton blankets had already been tidied up, while the pillows were fluffed and had been set against the headboard. A new vase of lavander sat on the headboard, filling the room with it's scent. It only took a few moments for my eyes to scan the room. The door leading to the hallway had been left open, and it was obvious that Eugene hadn't bothered to wait for me until he left.

"Oh well," I said, trying to get the twinge of disappointment out of my head. I walked over to the other side of the room, where a couples of chairs, a couch, some shelves, a coffee table, and a painting easel sat near a huge bay window. Some paint had been poured into glass bottles, which sat in a wooden box. I looked at it for a moment. The box looked fragile and delicate, unlike the ones I used back in my tower. Those were overused and splattered all over the place all the time. However, I still loved them. A part of me wanted to go back to the tower to get them, though I bit my lip when my mother suggested I get new paints. Guess it was alright. I didn't even want to go back to that tower anyways.

I sat down, on the too-comfortable chairs and picked up a brush. I had been given over twenty, handcrafted from mahogany, and the tips were dipped in what seemed like gold. The brush had been made from feathers of an exotic animal, and it was so soft, a gray little tail with flecks of brown and crimson. I dipped it into a bottle, not caring what color paint it held. The brush hovered over the canvass for a short while, then flew across the room. The clang suprised me, and forced me to look up. The floor was streaked with green paint. It would be horrible trying to clean that out. I clenched my fist... then unclenched it. Only then had I noticed that I was unreasonably angry. Not at the brush, but at myself. Myself and this whole place. How unnatural it felt, and how stupid I was, not being able to adapt to it in a year's time. I felt like an outsider, even after all these months. Tears came. I didn't know what I was crying for; yet it still felt good to cry.