Once upon a time, across a river of gold, beyond a wall of misty purple mountains, and under a blue sky dusted with glittering silver stars, there was a tiny kingdom known as Frealla.
In the heart of this land, just a few miles from the castle, there was a quiet little peasant village; and in this villages, there were two stone cottages side by side. The one on the left was tidy annd cheerful, with daffodils around the doors and roses under the windows; but the one on the right was in desperate need of a good spring cleaning. The goodwives clucked their tongues as they passed by it.
"Disgraceful!" they said, blissfully unconscious of the eggs tumbling out of their freely swinging baskets. Not a picket fence nor a jasmine trellis to be found! And just look at all those weeds! Ugh! Certainly the abode of a man, and a bachelor at that."
Actually, it was the abode of neither a man nor a bachelor (the goodwives equated marital status with genus, or at least species). It was the abode of Gothella, a witch. Strictly speaking it was more of a rental apartment, because she had only been living there a few weeks and had no intention of staying much longer. Witches in general can bear quiet little peasant villages and clucking goodwives no more than they can bear water, princesses, or Salem, Massachusetts.
Even though Gothella was a witch, she had a slight problem. She couldn't use magic.
Now, this was only a temporary defect--or at least, it was supposed to be. Gothella was a rare kind of witch known as a Dependent. Dependents may have all the wands, potions, and spells in the world; but unless they have a source from which to draw power--a touchstone, as they call it--they are just like ordianry people and cannot use magic at all. Touchstones can be a variety of different things--a jewel, a flower, an animal--and they're different for each individual. Any knowledgeable witch knows her touchstone when she finds it; it's finding it that's the problem.
For many years Gothella's touchstone had been an emerald ring, but a few months ago she had accidentally dropped it into the River Goldenwine. I should have known better than to get on a boat, of all things, she fumed to herself as she sat by the window of her cottage. What witch ever had any luck around water?
She rested her chin on her long, thin hands and stared gloomily at the sunshine and shadows playing on the wall of her neighbors' home. The sunshine and birdsong were bothersome enough, but now there was another sound--a high, thin wail resembling that of a kitten. She grimaced.
A moment later, two figures appeared at the open window--a young man, and a woman who Gothella guessed was his wife. The couple were talking excitedly and smiling down at something the girl held in her arms.
Newlyweds, Gothella thought with disgust. That's the only thing sillier than a witch in a boat.
The girl held the bundle up admiringly, and the cloth fell away, revealing a baby's face.
Gothella gasped.
She barely noticed the baby's beautiful blue eyes, delicate nose, and rosy cheeks. All she could see was the child's hair.
It was incredibly thick and long for a baby's hair, and it gleamed in the sunlight like spun gold. But it was not this gleam that captured Gothella's attention. It was the unmistakable shimmer of a touchstone that played on the blonde curls like sprites on the River Goldenwine.
Hardly daring to breathe, Gothella snatched up her wand and pointed it at the wooden table. There was a flash, and the table became solid gold.
Gothella's mind was already working. Witches' predominant personality trait is their ruthless, lightning-quick cunning. They may use it for good, evil, or simply their own interests. Gothella most often did the latter. She was not particularly wicked, but she was not particularly philanthropic either. And that was why the first plan that came to her mind was the one she meant to employ.
That night, Gothella gathered her belongings and tied them to her horse's saddle. Then, pulling her wand from beneath the folds of her dark cloak, she silently broke the lock on her neighbors' door and slipped inside. She moved through the house like a shadow, peering into each room until she found the nursery. She cautiously picked up the baby, hoping it wouldn't wake up and screech, and tiptoed back outside into the darkness.
~
Sixteen years passed.
During that time, Gothella traveled around Frealla with her charge, whom she named Rapunzel. She also acquired another little girl, named Rouge, whom she began training in the magical arts. To say Gothella was cruel to them wouldn't have been completely true, but to say she was a motherly figure wouldn't have been true at all. To her, they were useful, nothing more.
When the two girls were ten years old, Gothella took up residence in a ruined castle deep within a forest. Rouge she allowed to live with her, but Rapunzel she locked in the top room of a tower about half a mile away, for fear she would one day try to leave.
Rapunzel, for many years, thought little of it. She had clothes, food, furniture, books, and a large window facing the Amethyst Mountains. She would often sit by it and sing to herself. She grew into a beautiful girl with extremely long hair, because Gothella forbade her or anyone else to cut it.
Rapunzel and Rouge formed a friendship that could not have been closer if they were sisters. Rouge was neither as beautiful nor as naive as Rapunzel, who was sweet as nectar most of the time but did have a bit of a temper. So Rouge--headstrong, studious, and plain--often had to overcome her jealousy and watch over her friend, espcially when she angered Gothella.
So the three of them lived in relative peace until one fateful day, when sixteen-year-old Rapunzel was struck with what was possibly the wildest of her many wild ideas.
"Rouge," she said as the two of them were sitting by her window, "I want to go out there."
Rouge swallowed hard. She had long been dreading this statement, though she had actually expected it to come years sooner. "Rapunzel," she carefully, "you know Gothella would half kill you if you even tried something like that."
"I don't care if she completely kills me," Rapunzel retorted. "I've stayed up here for six years. I just want to have a look around. It wouldn't take very long."
Rouge looked keenly at her. "You have no way of getting down." (She herself had gotten up to the room the only possible way--by climbing up Rapunzel's fifty-foot rope of hair. It was an effective, though slightly awkward, method; and one had to be extra careful when wearing a skirt.)
"You can bring back a rope or something from your house," Rapunzel said stubbornly.
"I guess," Rouge sighed. She knew her friend well enough to be a little afraid of her attempting to jump down, if no other solution presented itself. "I'll come back tonight. But you get one hour, and that's it. If Gothella finds out, we're both as good as dead."
To be continued . . .
