Your hands swung casually by your side as you wandered through the dense forestry, your eyes squinting through the blazing sunlight. Your hair swung rhythmically along your back, the few short hairs you had tickling the back of your neck. You could feel the soft grass through your worn soles, and as you walked throughout the shade of the towering trees, you could feel the soil cascading down their mounds as you stepped on them. The bottom of your dressed billowed slightly as you walked, the hem brushing just below your knees.
You breathed in through your nose deeply as you stepped out into an open field, feeling the soft breeze once again. The grass was longer, but not unkempt, and littered with an assortment of flora, a sea of green and red and pink and-
You fell over.
Your ankle throbbed from your sudden fall, and your hands stung slightly. Your heart was fast from the surprise, but your head was cloudy, your ears blocked, and your vision widened when you looked down to see droplets of blood pooling beneath you. You scrambled up, and reached into your satchel for a tissue, which you then pressed hard against the wound on your forehead. You sat down, leaning backwards on your one hand - the other still applying pressure to your head - and yelped slightly as you felt something underneath you. It felt hard, and relatively large. You supposed it was what you fell over.
You reached under your skirts and brought out a brown book, its pages ruffled and darkened with age, its cover tattered but strong, which applied to its binding, as well. It looked to have been heavily used, and your head pounded both with pain, and curiosity. You bit your lip as you pulled back the front cover to reveal...
Nothing.
A grand total of nothing.
You stared at the page in front of you in disbelief, and flipped through the book to observe the others, which were blank also. You reached into your satchel and brought out a pencil. You hovered it over the page, your fingers shaking, but for some reason, you couldn't do it.
"(Y/N)!" A high voice echoed. Your sister. You sighed, and deliberated for a second, before placing the book securely into your bag.
"Coming, Rapunzel!" You yelled back, and started to make your way back to the border of your village.
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You sat down on your bed, bouncing slightly, as you observed the book. It hadn't changed, shocker, and the pages stared at you, their blankness almost mocking. You scoffed.
"We'll see about that," you huffed at the book, which didn't respond.
You brought out your pencil again, and hovered it over the page, debating what to write.
You wrote down the first word that popped into your head.
'Hello,' you wrote, the lead scratchy on the rough texture of the paper. You stared at it, your slightly scruffy writing standing omnipresent. You stared at it, and stared at it, and stared at it. Until...
'Hello?'
The word appeared on the page, in a completely different font to your handwriting, just beneath your writing. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the page, disbelief itching at your head, but your inquisitiveness egging you on.
'Who is this?' You asked, the question stupid but straightforward. As if anyone wou-
'How are you doing this?' The notebook asked. However, at this point, you seriously doubted it was the notebook. The general tone sounded like a human. Maybe there was a human trapped in the notebook?
'I don't know, I found this book in the forest, and started writing in it. Who are you?' You asked again, the question unanswered and lingering in your mind.
'Why should I trust you?' You read, and you furrowed your eyebrows. Whoever was writing this sounded scared. Paranoid.
'Why should I trust you? For all I know you are some magic paedophile that's tricking me,' You wrote, your hand disconnected from any common sense that was still present in your brain.
The words 'Magic doesn't exist' appeared on the page almost instantly, and you rolled your eyes.
'Then how do you explain this?' You asked, and the notebook fell silent - so to speak.
'What do you want?' It finally wrote back.
'I don't want anything, I don't even know who you are,' You wrote, your writing scribbly with your speed.
'Tell me who you are first,' The notebook demanded, and you physically sighed. Like, out loud. As if you were talking to a person.
'No, you first,' You demanded.
The notebook was silent.
'My name's Varian,' it - no he - answered back, and you stopped in your tracks, your hand hovering over the name, which you recognised. You racked your brain. Oh!
'Are you the Varian I keep hearing about? The one who did all those horrid things to the Princess?' You wrote quickly, realisation fuelling you. You decided it was probably best if you refrained from revealing that you were Rapunzel's sister.
Silence.
'I guess so,' he answered back. Your eyes went wide. You were speaking to a criminal, and not only a criminal, but the very criminal who almost tore your family apart in the most horrifying way possible. You were not present when everything happened; you were away visiting your Aunt Willow. But, when you had come back, Corona was no longer the bright and happy kingdom it once was. It had seemed in shock.
'How did you get this book if you are in the dungeons?' You asked, generally curious.
'The guards were sick of having to wipe my chalk drawings off the prison wall, so they gave me this to make their lives easier. I doubt they knew what it could do. They wouldn't have given it away otherwise. Then again, they aren't the smartest, so who knows?' He wrote back, and your eyes scanned the words as they appeared. Okay. He wasn't fond of the guards. Dually noted.
'Why should I keep talking to you? You're a criminal,' You asked, your heart pounding as you awaiting his answer.
'Please don't go,' He pleaded, 'I don't have anyone to talk to down here. I haven't had a conversation with anyone in almost a year.'
You felt your heart pound in your chest. You felt sorry for him.
'Fine. But, if we are to continue this little endeavour, you'll need to know my name. Yes?' You asked, aggression slipping into your tone, 'although I'm fairly sure that when you learn who I am, you won't want to talk to me anymore.'
'I beg to differ,' Varian wrote back.
'Okay then, here goes nothing. My name's (Y/N),' you informed, and you could almost feel the silence fall over the book.
'Rapunzel's sister?' He wrote back, after a while.
Not 'The princess', but 'Rapunzel's sister'. He was already associating you with her, which wasn't good. If you wanted to get information, you needed to be trusted.
'I guess so, yes, although I wasn't around when everything went down. I'm sorry about what happened to your father,' You wrote, remembering Quirin's fate. Silence. You were really starting to get sick of that.
'I'm sorry too. So, you're really the princess?' He asked, and you smiled to yourself. 'Princess'. You were getting somewhere.
'Yeah, I am,' you answered back.
'Why are you writing to me, after what happened?' Varian asked, and your mind went blank. You couldn't say, to gain information, although that answer was only half true.
'Unlike some people, I believe in second chances,' You wrote. It was a low blow, that was true, but you needed to establish that you didn't agree with what he did.
'Ouch.' He wrote back, and you laughed slightly.
'Do you think I could come visit you?' You asked after a while, and waited for his response.
'What have I got to lose?'
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You walked down into the dungeons, the moon shining through the prison cages, a hood pulled over your head. You were so lucky that your hair wasn't as long as Rapunzel's, because it made it easier to conceal yourself. You arrived at a guard, who stood at attention.
"Who are you?" The guard asked, and you lifted your head to reveal your face.
"Your majesty," he bowed, "why are you here?"
"I am here to see Varian," you said confidently, "do not speak to anyone of this, especially my father."
The guard nodded, and began to lead you down the dingy corridor.
Prisoners grabbed for your ankles, and you kicked their hands away, lightly. The guard stopped in front of a small cell, the majority of it hidden from the view you had from the door. The guard opened the door, and gestured for you to go in, before closing the door. You waited until you could hear his footsteps disappear down the hall, before you turned.
He was curled into a small ball on the bench, his head in his knees and his arms hanging over the edge. Slight snores were audible, and muffled by his black hair, which hung over his face, the blue streak visible and striking. A tattered shirt both clung to and hung off his frail body, and his legs were covered by ripped trousers. His feet were bare, and cuffed, and so were his hands. Dirt and blood mixed together on the sole of his feet.
He was asleep.
You sat next to him on the bench, his head closest to you. You looked down at his body, observing the rise and fall over his chest. You placed your hand on his shoulder and shook it, and immediately he woke up.
He sat up suddenly, bashing his head into yours. You reeled backwards, your hand raised to your forehead. Luckily, he had missed your cut, which would have started to bleed again for sure. His eyes were blue; frantic, and he stared at you in surprise and question.
"I didn't actually think you'd come," He said in disbelief, and you tilted your head.
"Why?" You asked, and he scoffed.
"Well, the Royal Family has a penance for going back on their word," he laughed harshly, his voice hoarse and raspy. He was dehydrated; his lips cracked and dry. You completely ignored his remark, and instead smiled at him, as warmly as you could.
"Consider me unique," you smiled, and he just stared at you. Like he couldn't decide what to think.
"Where's your book?" You asked, and Varian shook his head.
"I tried to stop them, but the guards came and took it away. Per order of the King," he grimaced, his hands fiddling with each other, "luckily I was able to rip out the page we wrote on before they came, but it went blank as soon as I took it out." You pursed your lips.
"So the magic is in the binding then? The cover?"
"I wouldn't say magic, but whatever it is seems to be in the cover, yes," he confirmed, sort of, and looked at you.
"Well, fiddlesticks," you swore, and Varian laughed, genuinely this time. Although, he seemed to bite back on his tongue as soon as he did. You looked at him curiously, trying to figure him out. He didn't give off the vibes of a criminal, and he certainly didn't look dangerous or intimidating.
He just looked like a tired 15 year old.
You decided you couldn't decide yet.
You'd have to come back.
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Well, I thought it was about time I'd write another longer one. There will be a part two, but I don't know if it will develop more past that. Let me know if you have any fic ideas!