Becoming Rapunzel

Lover

Something had been awakened inside me. Caring for Ansel’s wound had made me feel better about myself. Using my skills in healing had so much more meaning than using my skills to clean the kitchen or dust the library. A need grew, itching under my skin. It started ferociously. The first day after Ansel had gone I was bored. I hadn’t been bored in years, the tedium dulling my senses. I hadn’t even realized it had happened. I had filled my days with reading and my nights with gazing at stars—good, enjoyable things to be sure, but in the end, it seemed a pointless use of my time if I could not use the things I had taught myself. I paced my chamber floors, looking for something useful to do. I could not sit still. I had to act, to find some purpose more permanent than picking nits out of my hair. In frustration, I sat at my window and sighed, plopping my chin on my hands and gazing across the barren tops of the Darkling Forest. The mountains to the southwest were covered in snow, while the hills sloped out to the north and the east, their trees laden with ice or snow.

The second day the ferocity of my compulsion to act had dulled to an itch, seemingly abated under the lack of fuel, but it did not disappear. Over the course of the next few months the itch would grow more distracting and more incessant than the fire with which it began. I yearned to make use of my knowledge somehow. I had memorized illnesses and herbs my whole life long, but the application of the lore eluded me. Once, a day before Ansel’s next visit, I even considered cutting myself to have something to practice on. I even went so far as to pick up the kitchen knife, but when I saw the dull blade my belly twisted and I lost my resolve. I had a low threshold for pain.

Instead I spent the day washing my hair. It took from midmorning until dusk. I used the barrel I washed dishes in and most of my remaining water. I started by wetting my lye soap in the water, then mixing it with dried lavender and essential oil of rosemary. It would have been better if I had any eggs to add to the mixture, but I had eaten the last one when breaking my fast. I stripped to my waist and dragged my braid across the ground, pulling until I had found the knotted end. Goodness, my hair was long. I submerged about a foot of hair at a time, working my way toward my head, untangling the old braid, smoothing the knotted hair with the soap and oil, the rinsing it in the barrel. About halfway through, several hours later, I realized I was shivering in the cold. There was no fire in the kitchen, and I rethought my plan to strip half-naked, wet my hair and my scalp, in the winter without a fire nearby. But I could not ignore my restlessness, so I continued. By dusk I was bending over the barrel with a comb in hand, rinsing the last of the soapy oil from my hair. Wringing as much of the water as I could from my hair, I flung it back over my shoulder and stood, pulling my shift, kirtle, and dress back over my chest and shoulders. I looked around me and saw piles of sleek, glistening gold across the counter, the floor, and even the hearth.

Gathering armful after armful, I hurried upstairs to my chamber. It was growing colder as the sky grew darker. I threw my hair on my bed and found my socks, somehow kicked under the bed, and put them on. After lighting a fire, I bundled under my covers and hair. Sleeping with it loose was out of the question. I might strangle myself in my sleep, or at the least tangle everything I worked for hours to straighten. I glanced at the gleaming white hairpins lying on my chest across the room.

Without having a real pattern for what I attempted, I began braiding the locks of hair in front of my ears. It took quite a while to reach the end, and I had to pick drowned itch-mites from my hair as I went. Then I began intricate braids through the rest of my hair, braid over braid. I tied the end off with my usual strip of cloth, and exhausted, fell asleep.

The next morn I was almost certain Ansel would visit. So after breaking my fast, I wound my braids up to the nape of my neck and used the pins, fastening the loop in place. I went to Gothel’s looking glass and tried to see my back. It had turned out surprisingly well, for me not seeing what I was doing. The braids over my ears draped back and were caught loosely by the pins with the rest of my hair. My braid looped to the floor, just brushing it, while the bulk of it was kept up in the bun by the pins. The hairpins were just long enough. I smiled at the result. I dressed in my better dress, the one made of cream wool.