TWISTED TALES

dix | ❝ rapunzel ❞

there's something sweet,
wafting through the breeze,
a delicacy to the ears,
gentle song, woeful voice, hopeful dreams,
he drowns in it,
he drowns in the sound of it,
a maiden somewhere close by,
but still too far away,
he inches closer on his steed,
drawn in by the saccharine melody,
until his gaze falls upon a jagged, black tower,
where the vines climb its ancient structure,
he wonders,
"how could something so dulcet,
exist in such a place,
cracked, aged, and dreadful,
such a haunting sight,
an angel trapped in here is such an unlawful vice."
he peers into the window, as much as he is able, from on the ground where he stands,
but darkness only meets him and he can't see who's singing,
so sweetly, so sadly, so-
crunch,
he pauses,
footsteps grow closer nearby,
he runs away and hides.

a woman in a cloak hobbles their way with a basket,
he cringes at her face,
hideous, old hag with crooked teeth and yellowed nails,
her hair was slimy, full of grease,
her brown body sagged on aching bones,
ancient body with a tired soul,
he becomes agitated when her voice cuts through the mellifluous song,
of the beauty captured in a stony, eerie beast,
a mockingbird caged in rusted, inky steel,
perhaps the witch was the one who put her there...
the hag cries out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,"
and then a stream of platinum locks flow down the tower wall,
they glisten under the glittering, golden rays of the afternoon summer sun,
sparkling like a river of silver stars,
he is bewitched by the rivulet,
the spell only broken when the liver spotted hands of the old woman grips onto it,
he believes that she stains it, muddies it,
she is not worthy to hold it,
her wretched touch will transform it.
he angrily grips his sword as she climbs up the silver river,
up to where the goddess lives,
when he hears no screams, he lets go of his weapon,
and then speculates whether the girl is bronzed or pale,
tall or short,
whether she was beautiful enough to court.

the old crone soon returns.
she slides down glittery hair,
the prince waits until he's sure she's gone,
before he stands under the tower of his future,
future love, future wife, future light of his life,
what a daydreamer...
he works up the courage and shouts to the darkness in the window,
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,"
soon the glitzy, pale tresses fall from the fortress,
that houses his mistress,
he ascends with excitement, he will finally be enlightened,
his eyes will be wipe cleaned of the hag he had just seen,
and his senses will be overwhelmed by beauty,
"oh Rapunzel, Rapunzel," that's all his mind speaks,
he clambers into the room, and rises to meet-

darkness?

he is confused.
he looks back out the window,
the hair was still there, the strands ran into the darkest shadows of the room,
the room...it was cold, it froze him,
a shiver ran up his spine, chills lingered in his mind,
"Rapunzel?" his question hung in icy air,
like winter breath, frigid oxygen,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,"

a shrill voice whispered back, like a taunt,
he backed up when he saw a shadow move,
it inched closer to where he stood,
before him wasn't an angel, or a beauty, or a darling, or a goddess,
but a moon bathed enchantress,
with a smile like the Cheshire's from Alice,
her limbs were freakishly thin, she was like a walking skeleton,
sunken cheeks, pale eyes, sharp nails extended from bony fingers, twitching for a life,

"boys like you, fall prey to siren songs,

so easy to lure you with a mockingbird call,

songbird music, songs full of euphonic sadness,

you wanted to cure it, now look where that lead you,

stupid lovesick boys, best thing on the menu,"

her voice hissed at him with venom, it burned him like a fire,
he tried to get away, but behind him was the old witch form earlier that day,

"princes like you, so easy to trick, so lovesick,

make your hearts taste like candy,

so sugary it could rot teeth."

they lunge, they attack, they claw at his body,
they savour his screams like it was an appetizer,
appetizing, just a taste of the flavour on the way,
they rip him open, ivory exposed to chilly air,
magic cold, freeze it just right, freezing bones break with a satisfying crunch,
leaves a salty aroma on the tongue,
blood infused with emotion, such strong devotion,
misguided affection for the voice of an imaginary saint of a woman,
they drink it as it gushes from the gnashes, they prefer it fresh,
a river of scarlet red,
crimson stains their teeth, their dresses
and then they look at the heart,
it beats, it pulses still, although with pauses, it's dying, they need to eat it now while it still runs on sweet amour,
they rip it into two, and bite into its flesh, they devour it in one bite, they swallow with all their might,
amidst the night inside the tower,
at the fifteenth hour, something happens to them.

every lovesick heart they ravish,
they become ravishing,
the hag, she blooms from a withered weed into a gorgeous sunflower,
golden skin tight on younger bones,
her face fresh with youthful dew,
her brown hair shines as sunlight finally enters the dark room,
her sister's long hair retracts to her shoulders and glows like honey,
blonde hair hanging off her head,
her skin plump and cheeks blushed pink,
her eyes vibrant blue with a coldness somewhere concealed within it,
the lovesick boy's carcass dissipates in glittery smoke as the sun glazes every corner of the once shadowy tomb,
it heats up the winter that was swirling in the gloom,
the witches smile, a smile so vile, if on their ancient faces,
but on the ones of youth, they only appear cunning,
they float out of the room, and go off on their way,
their laughter wafting through the breeze,
sweet sounds of giggling teens,
they skip through the green,
not before vanishing the ownerless steed,
no witnesses, not even unwitting horses,
the mockingbirds chirp, the deer run free in the valley,
the sun soaked world so drenched in happy,

"what a beautiful day," they say.