Rapunzel

This story is by Nicole Pilling and was part of our 2019 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your golden hair!” Villagers shouted as they gathered together in groups calling out to Princess Rapunzel. Children laughed and chased each other through the crowds while their parents stood outside the castle in hopes the princess would grace them with her presence. Men, woman, and children sang and danced to happy songs the Minstrels played. Notes from the Lutes danced in the wind, weaving and swirling their way up the castle walls and into Rapunzel’s opened window.

“Bloody fools,” glaring down on the people chanting her name Rapunzel shook her head in disgust. “Samson darling, I’m hungry, fetch me my meal. I’ve worked up quite the appetite listening to these idiots,” she said to her guard. Licking her lips, Rapunzel walked over to her dressing table, picked up her ivory comb, and slowly brushed her hair. Stroke after stroke, she gazed at herself in the mirror.

Gently, she ran her fingers down the delicate slope of her long slender neck and traced the open cut of her gown following the swell of her ample bosom. Arousal flared deep in her belly, igniting a sensual fire under her fingertips. Infatuated by her reflection, Rapunzel watched her chest rise and fall, her full breasts pressed against the soft fabric of her corset spilling over with each heightened breath.

A knock on the door jolted Rapunzel back to reality, setting the brush down on the table she turned towards the door. “Yes.” She called out.

“It is I, Samson, Your Highness,” he said, slowly he opened the solid wood door. Samson stood tall and lean, his hair, thick and wavy hung disheveled over his deep-set grey eyes. Standing next to him was a petite blonde peasant girl, not a day older than eighteen. The girl wore rags, dirty and torn, her hair a golden knotted mess. She stood awkwardly, fidgeting with her dress.

“Please, come in. Have a seat.” Rapunzel offered, gesturing towards the empty chairs. Samson took a step back, allowing the young girl to enter the room before making himself scarce.

“Your Highness,” the girl said and curtsied for Rapunzel. Tentatively she sat down, folding her hands on her lap. Rapunzel walked over and took the seat across from her. Clearing her throat, she asked the girl, “What is your name?” she kept her eyes focused on the girl enjoying her discomfort.

“Octavia, Your Grace,” she answered, wringing her hands together nervously. Nodding her head, Rapunzel stood and walked over to the dressing table. She carefully watched Octavia from the mirror as she picked up the ivory comb from the table. Turning, she walked over to the girl and stood behind her. Slowly she grasped a section of Octavia’s hair and carefully worked her way through the knots.

”Did you know Octavia, it’s said in the bible, that a woman’s hair is her crowning glory?” shaking her head no Octavia said, “ I did not, My Grace. May I ask why I am here? Have I done something?”

Ignoring the question as though the words not spoken, Rapunzel continued, “A lady must always take care of herself, why, how can one expect a gentleman to court if we are dirty and unkempt.” It was said a statement, not a question.

Baring her neck, she pulled Octavia’s hair behind her shoulders. Rapunzel smoothed Octavia’s hair with her fingers admiring her long golden main. Excitement grew as she pat the girls head in long slow strokes from her crown to the middle of her back, each stroke stronger than the next. Octavia started to squirm in the chair, unease prompting her to pull away.

Yanking a handful of hair, Rapunzel ground out between clenched teeth, “I’m not finished. You want to look pretty don’t you?”

Octavia yelped in pain. Wrenching herself from Rapunzels clutches, she flew to the floor knocking over the chair on her way down. She scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees, before she could reach the door, Rapunzel shouted, “Octavia! Look what you’ve done. You have spilled wine all over my rug. It was a gift sent from Italy, and now it’s ruined!” furious, she screeched and charged Octavia slamming the door closed before she could escape. Standing, Octavia faced her assailant; fist clenched, and ready to fight.

“Why are you doing this?” Octavia demanded, eyes searching for another way out free from the torment. Crazed laughter filled the room, madness presenting itself in Rapunzel’s eyes as she circled her prey.

She smiled wide showing off two very sharp fangs. “Because I can,” Rapunzel said, springing forward she pounced on Octavia knocking her to the floor. Grabbing a fist full of hair, she pulled the girls head back, exposing her delicate neck. She could smell the terror pulsing from the girl as she fought uselessly under her. Playfully, she flicked her tongue, seductively up and down the girl’s throbbing artery.

“It’s not polite to play with your food, My Grace,” Samson said peering in from the doorway. He watched the events unfold time after time. He was tasked her guardian, by the King himself after she turned vampire. No one could ever know the truth about the Princess; she was a danger not only to others but to herself, so they locked her away in the castles highest tower.

Snorting in amusement Rapunzel sank her fangs into Octavia’s flesh. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, moaning once the girl’s lifeblood filled her mouth, relishing in the warm thick liquid that slid down her throat like silk on naked flesh she drank. Pull after pull Rapunzel sucked, not wanting to waste one drop of the scrumptious juice. Octavia’s plasma coated her veins, delivering exquisite jolts throughout her body.

Retracting her fangs from the girl’s pale skin, Rapunzel licked her lips in satisfaction. “Mmm, now that was a tasty meal. Sweeter than the last,” she purred, standing, she wandered languidly over to her dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. She wiped a drop of blood from her chin with her finger, analyzed the droplet a moment then sucked it from her fingertip.

“Samson, fetch the shears and finish the job won’t you. I need to prepare. The people are waiting for their Princess,” opening her drawer Rapunzel took out her special comb. It was her mothers, made from bone and the finest of jewels her father could find. He’d given it to her mother on their wedding night many moons ago. Stroking her hair one hundred times as her mother taught her, Rapunzel hummed an old tune the handmaids would sing.

Lost in memories, Samson cleared his throat to gain her attention and said, “It is ready for you; I think it’s a perfect match,” sitting down Rapunzel gathered the materials needed and got to work.

Stitch after stitch she weaved, adding to her masterpiece until she finished. Satisfied with a job well done, Rapunzel stood and turned to face Samson. Beaming, he said, “ You look stunning. It matches you beautifully,” she looked at her reflection and grinned seductively. Her hair now ten inches longer draped down her back and along the stone floor, fanning out behind her as a brides veil on her wedding day.

On this day five years past, Rapunzel secretly left the safe confines of the castle walls in search of the traveling merchant. Three times a year he would blow in by ship from his worldly travels bearing new and unusual keeps.

Instead, she stumbled upon pirates who raped and bludgeoned her bloody. Rapunzel fought the monsters with everything she had, she kicked and punched them, but her blows fell uselessly against their strength. Fighting for her life, she tore at their skin, her teeth sinking into flesh. She relished in their pain as blood filled her mouth, but still, it wasn’t enough. They grew vivid white fangs before her very eyes and sunk them into her battered and bloodied skin. After they finished with her, the monsters sheared her hair from her head as a souvenir and left her for dead. The Vampires blood mingled with her own, tainting Rapunzel’s innocence. That horrid night Rapunzel was reborn the very evil she loathed.

Jolted by the chanting below, Rapunzel gathered her ever long hair and marched to the window. She watched saddened as the villagers celebrated with one another, laughing and dancing to the songs the Minstrels sang and played.

She waved her arm outside the tower, and abruptly, the music stopped, everyone quieted waiting for what she would do. Traditionally someone called out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!” the crowd began to chant her name until Rapunzel threw her golden main out of the window for all to see. Her hair streamed down the tower, blanketing the castles stone wall with velvety golden tresses.

People cheered, the Minstrels played their instruments, and the celebrations continued for yet another year.