Maverick (FCRAs Winner)

Rapunzel

Hannah opened her eyes and stared at the same ceiling she had endured for over eighteen months.

She was going to be rescued for the third time.

Just the thought of it made Hannah roll her eyes. She had been through training rescues, rehearsal rescues and bone fide ones, but at no point did she feel like a damsel in distress waiting for her true love. The princes had been becoming steadily more pathetic, and it didn't help that she was far more adept at princely things than them.

The last rescue was a prime example. The prince tried to swipe his sword at the poor witch which was against all procedures and then tied the knot wrong to get out of the tower, meaning he took a long fall and had to be taken away in a medicart. Hannah was blamed of course. It was always Hannah after all.

She sighed and sat up, glowering across the room to the shimmering lilac dress hanging on the wardrobe, and the trail of golden hair that ran from it to her scalp. Eighteen years and three months of heavy conditioning and no haircuts meant her locks were almost the length of her, but of course that was nowhere near long enough for a true Rapunzel type. So, under the cover of night, her parents took her to the black market for keratin injections, synthetic hair follicles and caffeine scalp stimulants to encourage the gold to keep tumbling from her head. It didn't come without a price though, Hannah thought, absent mindedly rubbing the back of her neck with her fingers and tracing the scars and burns that were still tender from the last dose of treatment nearly two years ago.

Hopefully the final dose of treatment too. She had tried to fight her corner, tried to explain she did not wish to have the rest of her life mapped out by a testosterone fuelled gauntlet wearing oaf that first showed up by damn near pulling her hair out. But to no avail. She had even tried to prove her worth through sword fighting, archery, horse riding, load bearing and more. Her parents would not hear of it. So she resigned to the third and final time of her being presented, deciding that playing along would at least get her out of the never ending circle of depressing pageantry and falsities. So at midday precisely, the prince would come calling. And she would grudgingly answer.

But it didn't mean she couldn't have some fun until then.

Stretching, she got up and dressed in a simple undercoat and tunic, manoeuvring the garments around her hair with practised deftness. Quickly and efficiently she wound her hair into braids before twisting them together so they fell to the base of her back. After a furtive glance out of the window, she crouched on the floor, rolling back the ornate rug to reveal a large iron ring. Tugging it, she prised upwards to reveal a hidden trap door and a ladder leading into the darkness below. Smiling to herself, she swung her legs into the hole and started her descent.

Her parents had taken greater care this time with her captivity. Most other families locked their daughters away for a week or so before the Rescuing; giving time for a couple of rehearsals and the real thing.That's what had happened the first time with Hannah too. But after her feisty nature showed through the Duke and Duchess had decided their eldest daughter needed a little more adjusting time than most. The second time she was locked up for a month. When that...fell through, extreme measures were taken. Hannah winced as the results of the extreme measures brushed against the narrow wall. Black market injections, hypnotherapy and when all else failed plain old beatings. But she was still a long way from the dream daughter they wanted.

So the third time, eighteen months had seemed like a reasonable time to tame her. Hannah knew she was a burden, but she still resented her parents for the outright rejection. They were clearly concentrating their efforts on her sister. Lily was coming up to her first presentation this year and if she got selected first time the family reputation would soar. And they needed it, especially after Hannah.

Hannah's feet touched the floor and she turned around, feeling the walls for the rope pull. Clasping it, she yanked hard and flooded the room with light from the skylights positioned evenly around the ceiling. Her parents may own the tower, but they didn't care for any part of it except the rescue room on the top floor. The rental income from that, along with the small rescue cottage in the woods alone meant neither had to work at all. Hannah had discovered the hatch after an awkward toe stubbing incident on her first attempt, and had subsequently kitted it out with junk and other salvaged bits and bobs. This was her workroom.

Hannah walked over to the table in the centre of the room and felt underneath. Even if someone discovered the room, she did not want this to be found. Feeling along the edge of the table, she pulled out a small box that was hidden underneath. Inside were a set of pencils. Selecting the sharpest one, she turned to the blue tinted paper and started to draw sweeping lines and organic shapes, filling the space with her ideas. Her regular furtive glances told of the nature of her actions; drawing was banned. Creating was illegal. Ideas were suicide.

Hours passed, though it felt like minutes to her, crafting and creating and refining. She dreamed of carriages without clockwork horses that could be self driven; small devices which simulate battles using some kind of projection; heating systems powered by the sun and (with the right tuning) a selection of bubbles from bath taps for perfect baths every time. The clockwork pieces littering the floor were her jigsaw pieces and she was making every type of solution and more. She could have stayed in that room for years with some regular supplies.

Except that wasn't how this world worked.

The sound of hoofs approaching called her to attention. She scrabbled over to the ladder and climbed nimbly, the deftness and speed belying her regular use of the secret passage. Throwing her tunic off, she slipped the dress over her head. A glance in the mirror showed a young woman in an ill fitting lilac velvet gown with far too many bows and lace trims, hair circling her like a snake about to strike at its prey and a face without a hint of a smile. "Come on, Hannah." She shook herself and took yet another glance out of the window at the officiators hovering around, their clockwork wings emulating giant wasps. How appropriate. Glancing back in the room, she clutched a lipstick frantically and applied it, grimacing at how odd she looked with it in place. She was pretty, but had decided a long time ago her face was a place for blood, mud and dust to land rather than floral scented powders and sticky glosses. After many heated discussions, she had agreed for her mother's sake to wear the damned stuff for the duration of the Rescuing. She was already counting down.

A trumpet called her to attention. Standing by the window, she let her hair down and held it, poised to toss it out. "Third time lucky." She muttered to herself with a wry smile.

Her prince had arrived. She was up.