Becoming Rapunzel

Prologue

Many cultures have coming of age rites. The Killyrians mark womanhood at the first blood. The Ball people recognize adulthood when they give their maidenhood away. I have heard that the fierce tribes in the south honor their children as women when they themselves bring forth their own children as new life into the clan.

The Alamanni have made theirs into an art, a science, even a religion. Great keepers of tradition and lore, the Alamanni have a ceremony for everything, and usually a poem or song to go with it. Many people form tales and even business around the rituals. Poems, ballads, and stories are often formatted with these in mind. Everyone knows their birthdate. Most people choose to perform life-changing rituals or events on certain days in hopes of bringing luck to their home. From the founding of the dynasty of the king to the food craved by women with child, everything has meaning.

For me, however, it was none of these things. Some girls can naturally transition into womanhood with grace, but I was not one of those. The one day that remains scorched into my memory, no matter how many years have passed, the day I became a woman, rent my heart in two. To lose life and love and belonging all at once, well, it does things to a person.

Most people celebrate the changes life brings to them. Except me. I had no rites of passage. I had no way to mark the time, save for seasons’ change. Tucked away, hidden from sight high above the trees in a luxurious, impregnable tower, deep in a labyrinth of chambers, I lived. All alone.