From the Tower - Prologue

From the Tower - Prologue

• 3.
  My presence inthe village has long been a source of intrigue. Endless hours of gossip have sprung from my rather sudden appearance one stormy spring day and I know that nothing was ever fully explained. Very few people know my whole story and, at their suggestion, I have taken pen to paper to set the record straight. No, I am not a changeling. Yes, I was named after a plant. No, I am have not studied magic. But, yes, my life has been touched by it. My journey was not easy and may seem strange to some, but I have grown to be thankful for every single step along the way. I have come far in the past few years and gained much for all that I have sacrificed. To truly explain it all to you, I must go many years back.
• 4.
  It all beganwith a Bible. Mother Gothel’s Bible, to be precise. She brought it back with her many years ago after a long afternoon of foraging for food when I was about seven. She had found it in what had once been a great cathedral and, knowing that many would go to great lengths to lay their hands on it, she brought it to the tower to keep it safe just as she had done with me. Of course, I couldn’t wait to learn what mysteries the highly coveted Bible held, but I never imagined the literary hunger it would awaken in me. As Mother liked to say, that was “the beginning of the end”.
• 5.
  After Mother Gotheltaught me my letters, I spent most of my days reading and rereading the bible. I fondly remember sitting by the fireplace with the heavy book balanced on my small knees and Mother watching me read with pride in my ability, but sadness in her eyes. “Rapunzel,” she would often say, “by these words men used to govern their lives. They sought greatness by following these examples set out before them, but, alas, this Bible is now only a reminder of a world that once was.” By the time I was eight, I had learned what she meant. The Great War had ravaged the kingdom for decades until only those too weak or too cowardly to fight were left. Chaos erupted and overtook the land and all its people.
• 6.
  Mother never hesitatedto answer my questions about the past. Once upon a time she lived in the castle working as the Queen’s attendant. When the royal family was deposed and fled across the border, she had to move to a small patch of land on the edge of the kingdom where she lived in fear, scraping out a meager living. Several years later she found me. She had lived next to a young couple: my true parents. They were cowardly and greedy people. They refused to fight in the Great War and used anarchy to their benefit. They ran with a gang of thieves, pillaging the town and stealing from honest folk, including Mother Gothel. Finally their day of reckoning came and they were imprisoned for burglary. Mother Gothel remembered that I had been left alone in their house and so she took me in, vowing to raise me as her own daughter. I was barely two weeks old.
• 7.
  For my firstyear Mother sent me to a wet-nurse that lived far out in the country. During that time Mother had the tower built. It was a great stone edifice rising hundreds of feet into the air and located high in the snowy mountains. It had no doors and one opening window and provided excellent defense from the outside world. We moved in soon after and there I was to remain.
• 8.
  Throughout my childhoodMother lived in the tower with me. It was a happy home, filled with joy and laughter. Once a week, Mother would leave in search for food to tide us over until her next departure. She would be gone for two days at a time, during which I would read the Bible (at the time our only book) and count the minutes until she would return with her arms laden down with her newest acquisitions.
• 9.
  My twelfth birthdaywas the first one I had ever spent alone. A week before, Mother had come to me with disparaging news: the townspeople were growing mighty suspicious of her lengthy disappearances and she was afraid she risked my safety by coming back and forth so often. “Rapunzel, my dearest,” she said with a sigh, “I am afraid that I can no longer stay in the tower with you. I must spend most of my time in my hut on the edge of town, but I shall come as often as I can to see you.”
• 10.
  Of course Icried and begged her to stay. “At least let me go with you, Mother!” I implored through my tears, but Mother stayed strong and said I must remain in the tower. The outside world was simply too dangerous and she could not bear to lose me. Finally the day came when she departed. I bawled. Her parting gift was a new book. “A companion,” she explained, “for your lonely nights.”
• 11.
  After that, booksbecame my life. Every time Mother came to see me, laden down with food and supplies, she would always remember to bring with her several new novels. They were rare treasures in the outside world, but Mother always managed to find some for me here and there. After a few years, the tower was filled with them.
• 12.
  I piled themonto the shelves until they bowed under the weight. I condensed less important things, like preserves and bread and soap, onto fewer and fewer shelves at the top until I had no room left. The floor became my new, bigger bookshelf. I piled them all around, frustrating Mother Gothel to no end. “A big, fat mess!” she called my organizing system, but it all made perfect sense to me. I always knew exactly where a book had been set and although Mother made many threats, she never stopped bringing me more of them.
• 13.
  During the yearsafter Mother moved out, books governed my whole existence. I slept only when I happened to doze off in the middle of a page and I ate only when food was within reach. I let myself become completely engrossed in each new novel. They transported me from the freezing tower, high in the mountains where the snow never stopped falling, and took me to exotic, warm lands where illegal duels were fought between sailors and mustachioed men, true love faced grave trials, and damsels in distress were rescued by knights in shining armor. Of course, I knew that the books had all been written years ago, long before the Great War had torn all of society apart, and such stories could never happen, but I found it better to pretend that they could. The books were perhaps the only reason I held on to my sanity.
• 14.
  When I turnedseventeen, Mother Gothel brought me the biggest present I had yet received. “A writing table,” she explained eagerly, “for you to create your own stories on.” With it she brought a large stack of blank parchment and a new set of quills and ink. She set it up for me in the corner next to my bed for me to try out.
• 15.
  I was asexcited as could be. For years I had read what others had written, but I was actually getting the chance to create my own story! Of course I did not stop reading, but I carved a few hours out of my days, usually around dusk, to put my own words down onto the page. I would sit down on my little stool, uncork my bottle of ink, and set to work. If ever I should be at a loss for the next words, I would rest my pen and watch the gently falling snowflakes until inspiration struck.
• 16.
  Of course, Inever, ever, expected inspiration to come in the form of a man. About a year later, I saw him out the window, a lone figure walking in the distance. Had I not been at my writing desk, I never would have spotted him. I never would have seen that he was wounded. I never would have become worried that he might die out in the freezing cold. And I certainly would never had let down my long hair and encouraged him to climb up my eighteen-year-long braid. So I guess, in a roundabout way, one could say it was actually Mother Gothel’s fault that I learned that everything she had told me, my entire existence, had been a lie.