Ever After

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” I repeated to myself snidely. “This has to be the stupidest ritual ever.”

I didn’t bother trying to deal with the mess attached to my scalp. You try to comb thirty odd feet of dark brown stuff while it clearly does not want to be tamed! It was already braided anyway, but the easier to climb the better. The last Rapunzel actually had climbing gear woven into her hair to get her prince up the side of this cursed tower!

Sleeping Beauty’s had their initiation through who could wake them up with a kiss! Why did Rapunzel’s have to have some dolt wrench the hair from their scalp?

The Prince’s and Princess’s Committee should all be sentenced to eternal hanging by the thumbnails. While listening to my sister sing. If you know a better punishment, feel free to suggest.

For the confused reader at home, I’ll elaborate. In Ever After, a princess doesn’t fall in love like any old girl. Instead, she has to register with the Prince’s and Princess’s Committee, also known as the PPC.

She then has to pick a note out of a very large and smelly hat. If you pick Cinderella, every prince that wants to marry you must find a pair of glass slippers and hope to goodness they’ll fit your feet. First come, first serve. If the slipper fits, low and behold your new husband!

Lucky me, I picked Rapunzel. My hair had a spell cast on it, and it grew to thirtyish feet as soon as I walked into this wretched tower.

I had to admit, the tower was kind of beautiful. The gray stone was a warm color, and the red brown floorboards never creaked. There was an antique chest to fill with clothes, and my enchanted mirror with the chair in front of it. The only door was locked. Trust me, I’ve tried.

It had been three weeks, and so far, no prince. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. I had had a rejection speech all figured out.

But the way things were going, I was going to be the first princess in history to have no prince.

Don't worry, they had said, you’ll have had too many princes to count come to your windowsill. One of them will be your perfect fit.

My mother had positively glowed. She had been a Snow White (woken with a kiss). Easy for her to spew good feelings about this.

I browsed through my book of history. All of them fairy tales, actually. In each and every one, a princess was heroically saved. I was sick and tired of that ending. What happens if she isn’t beautiful? What if she can’t sing? What if she tries really, really hard to be kind and polite, but has a temper anyway?

I walked over to my enchanted mirror.

“Mirror, mirror, polished glass who holds the key, Who will be the saviour of little old me?”

Nothing but my reflection.

That gave me an idea. One that set my heart on fire with anticipation.

I walked over to the clothes chest, and opened the only thing I had brought with me. The brown paper ripped easily under my fingertips. I quickly took off the ridiculous pink, poufy dress my mother had dressed me in and changed into my riding gear. Breeches, tunic, belt, hunting boots.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, staring into my gray eyes. The first smile in weeks broke across my face as I took my knife to the long braid. It fell off with a swish.

My hair stuck out in tufts after. Perfect.

I packed the enchanted mirror into my bag, and belted my knife. I stretched, the lightness from the loss of my braid making me feel like I was flying.

In a moment, I had tied the braid to the bedpost, and was halfway down the tower wall.

When my feet hit the earth, I felt like I could cry. I was free. I didn’t have to wait for a Prince Charming, I had had the power to do this all along.