commentary for for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lizzie_marie_23
May. 15th, 2012 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfCommentary on my Rapunzel story, for lizzie_marie_23.
I wrote this in – well, I honestly can’t remember. But I first posted it in 2006. I remember sitting in a classroom writing it, but I can’t recall if it was high-school or college. I was probably either a senior or freshman. *shrugs*
Some of the comments are from the pov of a writer who has evolved in the six(ish?) years since writing this. Some are notes about what I remember while writing this. I really hope none of them bother you.
Locked away in that Tower, all I had to do was read. Medina, the witch who got me for a weed, would get me any book I asked for. I did not hate her. I could not: she was all I had. And I did not hate my parents. If they had not given me to her, I would have had to work, and grow weary of life. But Medina had me, and so there was no need for exertion and toil. [I’m not sure when exactly I quit enjoying first person in fiction. Clearly, it was after this. But this paragraph feels so clunky now.]
The Tower was beautiful, and furnished like the palaces I read about in books. From my window, I could see a castle in the distance, the turrets jutting above the trees. Between the castle and my Tower, there was a forest. Sometimes I longed to enter the trees, to explore. But those times always passed, and I was glad of it.
My Tower had three rooms and one staircase. I once asked Medina about it, and she said that a rich man had owed her a favor. By her tone, I knew not to ask more. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, and my bedroom. My room had a library, a bed, and a table, with a bench below the window. [Why the hell did I capitalize ‘tower’ all the time?]
I spent my days reading or writing, and my nights sleeping. I had no need to cook or clean; Medina had given me invisible servants. I had no wants, and all my needs were addressed as soon as I expressed them.
Medina would visit me once a week, bringing books, notebooks, and pens or pencils. No matter what stories are told, Medina never climbed up my hair. She was a witch; how could that be forgotten? She would use her magic to open the door, and climb the stairs to my room. We would go to the kitchen, where the servants had a meal waiting. My hair—short and black, not golden—did not factor into it at all. [I do like this paragraph – why would a witch need to climb up hair? *hee*]
I was always happy to see her. We would speak for hours about books and writers. She read as much as I did; maybe more. She taught me parts of her craft; not all of it, because she said that I had not the heart for the rest. Not yet. I learned well, and she was a wonderful teacher. She was kind to me, and rarely lost her temper. She never struck me. [I’m not sure I’ve ever found a Rapunzel retelling where the witch was actually a better person than the prince. And I’ve read a lot of fairytale retellings. Anyone got recs?]
All in all, I liked my life of leisure. And then the prince came.
The tale of Rueben falling in love with my voice is not true. I could not sing, not well enough for anyone to love.
I had no desire to meet a man; I was seventeen, but I loved books. Men would take books from me, and make me sew, and have children. Medina and authors told me that. [I’m not entirely sure she’s heterosexual, actually.]
Rueben was a beautiful man. He still is. His hair is sunshine-gold, and his eyes a dark jade green. I did not love him. I did not even like him. His eyes, heavenly as they were, were cold. Cruel. Empty.
I could not love him. Not then. Not now. Not ever. No one, I think, could ever truly love Rueben. He was feared, lusted after, but never loved. [Rueben… is not a good guy. Like, at all. I didn’t really do any fleshing out of him, because when I wrote this he was basically a storytelling device, but I think if I rewrote this, he’d be even worse.]
Often I remember those days, shut away in my Tower. Quiet days, of reading, writing, contemplating. I wonder, as I pull my young daughter to my breast and watch my son sleep, if I had leaped from my Tower, would I be happier?
But I get ahead of myself.
Rueben, out hunting one day, caught sight of Medina, hurrying toward my Tower. He followed her, and she led him straight to the hidden door. Later, he would tell me that he loved my voice, that my voice led him to me. Not only was that an out-and-out lie, it could never have been true. He never loved anyone but himself, not even our children. [He tried courting her, after. She’s not a fool.]
Anyway, he melted back into the forest, and watched Medina. She said, “Open, entrance, and grant me passage.” The Tower tasted her magic and the door opened. She entered.
Perhaps I should explain about Rueben. [Oh, such an awkward transition! *winces*] He is the only child of King Martin and Queen Isabel. Martin was forty when his son was born, and Isabel only twenty-two. Martin spoiled his young wife and, in turn, Rueben, as well. He was a beautiful young boy, and no one could deny him anything. But he was soon revealed to be a monster, beneath that divine face. What Rueben wanted, Rueben got, and he wanted to know what was in that Tower. [I should have specified that it wasn’t totally his upbringing – he might have been worse, if he hadn’t been a prince, but no matter how Rueben was raised, he’d have been a monster.]
He’d always had a gift for voices, and he’s the greatest mimic I’ve ever met. His other talent makes me think the gods meant to curse me with him. He can sample magic, and hold onto it for hours. When Medina left, he reached out with his magic, to pull a piece of hers. Medina is a powerful witch, but her mind was on her next contract, not impudent princes. She did not feel him. Many times over the past few years, I’ve wished that she had. That she’d struck him down with all of her hate. But she did not. [I think if I rewrote this story, I’d go further into the background of the ‘talents,’ and maybe make it a bit harder for him to get in. Rereading this, it’s just too pat.]
He waited until she was long gone, and then walked to the Tower. Mimicking her voice, he repeated what she said. The Tower tasted his magic, and he thrust out hers. The Tower hesitated, and tasted again. For one instant, Rueben thought he would be rejected, for the first time in his life. But he was not.
The door opened, and he walked in. [For as simple as this statement is, I really like it. I just thought that, as I read it. *shrugs*]
I was reading on my window seat, and nibbling a brownie. I turned a page in my book and felt something I had never felt before. I looked over my shoulder, and I knew exactly what he was.
I read books. Medina told me. I knew what men wanted from a woman. And I knew that I was beautiful. My eyes are a deep, dark blue, my hair is the color of ebony. My skin was clear, and though I did no work, I was thin and curvy. [*headdesk* So clunky!]
Rueben wanted me. Even I, innocent of men, could see the desire in his eyes. He spoke, “Your name, maid.”
I licked my lips and stood. I wore the shift I usually slept in, as it neared sunset. It covered almost nothing. My hair was still damp from my bath. His eyes trailed down my body.
“Astryn,” I answered, and swallowed.
“Astryn,” he repeated. “I am Rueben, the prince of Corin. Will you be my bride?”
His eyes had traveled my body and now met mine. I could not say yes. But I dared not say no. I am a petite woman, and he towered above me. He was broad and strong. And I had never met a man before. “Yes,” I whispered.
He smiled. I felt fear, for the first time of my existence. He strode across the room. I knew the servants could do nothing. I knew that I could do nothing.
“We are formally engaged, then, Astryn,” he whispered in my ear, “And so you are mine.”
He tore my shift from me, and I shut off my mind. [And that is just as creepy as I remember. *shudders*]
.
After he was done, he left. He told me he would be back later, to bring me home. I heard, but I did not listen. I hurt, but I felt no pain. I was gone, locked away, somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind.
Medina returned the next day. I didn’t realize until later that the servants had called her. She held me, sobbed enough for both of us. “We will deal with this boy, my Ryn,” she swore in a voice I barely recognized, “He will feel the pain he inflicted.”
She cleaned me and burned the bed-clothes. I took a long, warm bath, scoured ever inch of my body, but I still felt dirty. Finally, safe in her arms, I wept. “I didn’t try to fight him, Momma,” I cried, “He was so much bigger than me.”
She kissed my forehead, murmured nonsense words. “I know, my dear. That’s why I shut you away. I did not wish you pain. But pain, it seems, has found you.”
I remembered what he’d said. “He’s coming back, Medina!” I screamed. “He’s coming back!” My body was poised to flee. “I’ll leap out the window, before he takes me again!”
She cupped my face in her hands. “Astryn, you carry a child.”
I collapsed. “What?”
“Not yet, but soon. I can hear his little voice. ‘Momma, Momma,’ he cries. Will you destroy this little boy, innocent of all wrongdoing?” She spoke softly. She would stand beside me, no matter my choice. [To be honest, if I rewrote this now? This isn’t the reason I would use for her having to go with Reuben. I’m not sure what I’d do instead, but I’ve had a personal realization recently that makes this whole scene bug me.]
“Can we not leave, Medina? Can we not go? You are a witch! Can you not kill him?” My voice was wild, panicked. I felt angry with her, for not protecting me better, for not being better prepared. [The way I hear You are a witch in my head has always filled me with glee. I’m not sure why.]
“I cannot kill him, my dear,” she said, not looking at me. “He is protected by magic more powerful than mine. Yes, I know who he was.” She looked around my room. “His presence stains the walls. I cannot kill him outright. But I can...” She turned back to me. “I can give you something. When you are ready, when you know the time has come...” She took a deep breath. “I will prepare a poison, now. It will be ready when he returns.” She stood. [Along with the ‘talents,’ I think I should have fleshed out the different hierarchies of witchcraft. Now that I’m rereading this, I apparently have some awesome world-building tucked away in my head.]
“A poison?” I asked.
She paused by the door to the kitchen. I could already hear the servants bustling around, preparing her ingredients. “I will make the poison, child. And I will leave. When you use it on Rueben, I will know. And I will come back. I will take you and your son and your daughter away from Corin.” She walked into the kitchen.
That was three years ago now. He married me, and he used me, and I gave him children. A beautiful little boy, Donal, and a daughter, Nina. The time has not come, not yet.
My story, being locked in a tower by a witch and rescued by a prince, has become legend. And, like all legends, it is distorted. [Reuben is a smart man. Marrying the commoner he found in the woods? Not likely. Marrying the long-lost princess of a broken country who he rescued? The people love her.]
And I wait for my time. I feel it approaching. I’ll not wait much longer. [There has been no Stockholm syndrome. She feels nothing but hate for him.]
Soon, Rueben will die. [This feels unfinished. And such a boring ending line.]
lizzie_marie_23. I wrote this in – well, I honestly can’t remember. But I first posted it in 2006. I remember sitting in a classroom writing it, but I can’t recall if it was high-school or college. I was probably either a senior or freshman. *shrugs*
Some of the comments are from the pov of a writer who has evolved in the six(ish?) years since writing this. Some are notes about what I remember while writing this. I really hope none of them bother you.
Locked away in that Tower, all I had to do was read. Medina, the witch who got me for a weed, would get me any book I asked for. I did not hate her. I could not: she was all I had. And I did not hate my parents. If they had not given me to her, I would have had to work, and grow weary of life. But Medina had me, and so there was no need for exertion and toil. [I’m not sure when exactly I quit enjoying first person in fiction. Clearly, it was after this. But this paragraph feels so clunky now.]
The Tower was beautiful, and furnished like the palaces I read about in books. From my window, I could see a castle in the distance, the turrets jutting above the trees. Between the castle and my Tower, there was a forest. Sometimes I longed to enter the trees, to explore. But those times always passed, and I was glad of it.
My Tower had three rooms and one staircase. I once asked Medina about it, and she said that a rich man had owed her a favor. By her tone, I knew not to ask more. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, and my bedroom. My room had a library, a bed, and a table, with a bench below the window. [Why the hell did I capitalize ‘tower’ all the time?]
I spent my days reading or writing, and my nights sleeping. I had no need to cook or clean; Medina had given me invisible servants. I had no wants, and all my needs were addressed as soon as I expressed them.
Medina would visit me once a week, bringing books, notebooks, and pens or pencils. No matter what stories are told, Medina never climbed up my hair. She was a witch; how could that be forgotten? She would use her magic to open the door, and climb the stairs to my room. We would go to the kitchen, where the servants had a meal waiting. My hair—short and black, not golden—did not factor into it at all. [I do like this paragraph – why would a witch need to climb up hair? *hee*]
I was always happy to see her. We would speak for hours about books and writers. She read as much as I did; maybe more. She taught me parts of her craft; not all of it, because she said that I had not the heart for the rest. Not yet. I learned well, and she was a wonderful teacher. She was kind to me, and rarely lost her temper. She never struck me. [I’m not sure I’ve ever found a Rapunzel retelling where the witch was actually a better person than the prince. And I’ve read a lot of fairytale retellings. Anyone got recs?]
All in all, I liked my life of leisure. And then the prince came.
The tale of Rueben falling in love with my voice is not true. I could not sing, not well enough for anyone to love.
I had no desire to meet a man; I was seventeen, but I loved books. Men would take books from me, and make me sew, and have children. Medina and authors told me that. [I’m not entirely sure she’s heterosexual, actually.]
Rueben was a beautiful man. He still is. His hair is sunshine-gold, and his eyes a dark jade green. I did not love him. I did not even like him. His eyes, heavenly as they were, were cold. Cruel. Empty.
I could not love him. Not then. Not now. Not ever. No one, I think, could ever truly love Rueben. He was feared, lusted after, but never loved. [Rueben… is not a good guy. Like, at all. I didn’t really do any fleshing out of him, because when I wrote this he was basically a storytelling device, but I think if I rewrote this, he’d be even worse.]
Often I remember those days, shut away in my Tower. Quiet days, of reading, writing, contemplating. I wonder, as I pull my young daughter to my breast and watch my son sleep, if I had leaped from my Tower, would I be happier?
But I get ahead of myself.
Rueben, out hunting one day, caught sight of Medina, hurrying toward my Tower. He followed her, and she led him straight to the hidden door. Later, he would tell me that he loved my voice, that my voice led him to me. Not only was that an out-and-out lie, it could never have been true. He never loved anyone but himself, not even our children. [He tried courting her, after. She’s not a fool.]
Anyway, he melted back into the forest, and watched Medina. She said, “Open, entrance, and grant me passage.” The Tower tasted her magic and the door opened. She entered.
Perhaps I should explain about Rueben. [Oh, such an awkward transition! *winces*] He is the only child of King Martin and Queen Isabel. Martin was forty when his son was born, and Isabel only twenty-two. Martin spoiled his young wife and, in turn, Rueben, as well. He was a beautiful young boy, and no one could deny him anything. But he was soon revealed to be a monster, beneath that divine face. What Rueben wanted, Rueben got, and he wanted to know what was in that Tower. [I should have specified that it wasn’t totally his upbringing – he might have been worse, if he hadn’t been a prince, but no matter how Rueben was raised, he’d have been a monster.]
He’d always had a gift for voices, and he’s the greatest mimic I’ve ever met. His other talent makes me think the gods meant to curse me with him. He can sample magic, and hold onto it for hours. When Medina left, he reached out with his magic, to pull a piece of hers. Medina is a powerful witch, but her mind was on her next contract, not impudent princes. She did not feel him. Many times over the past few years, I’ve wished that she had. That she’d struck him down with all of her hate. But she did not. [I think if I rewrote this story, I’d go further into the background of the ‘talents,’ and maybe make it a bit harder for him to get in. Rereading this, it’s just too pat.]
He waited until she was long gone, and then walked to the Tower. Mimicking her voice, he repeated what she said. The Tower tasted his magic, and he thrust out hers. The Tower hesitated, and tasted again. For one instant, Rueben thought he would be rejected, for the first time in his life. But he was not.
The door opened, and he walked in. [For as simple as this statement is, I really like it. I just thought that, as I read it. *shrugs*]
I was reading on my window seat, and nibbling a brownie. I turned a page in my book and felt something I had never felt before. I looked over my shoulder, and I knew exactly what he was.
I read books. Medina told me. I knew what men wanted from a woman. And I knew that I was beautiful. My eyes are a deep, dark blue, my hair is the color of ebony. My skin was clear, and though I did no work, I was thin and curvy. [*headdesk* So clunky!]
Rueben wanted me. Even I, innocent of men, could see the desire in his eyes. He spoke, “Your name, maid.”
I licked my lips and stood. I wore the shift I usually slept in, as it neared sunset. It covered almost nothing. My hair was still damp from my bath. His eyes trailed down my body.
“Astryn,” I answered, and swallowed.
“Astryn,” he repeated. “I am Rueben, the prince of Corin. Will you be my bride?”
His eyes had traveled my body and now met mine. I could not say yes. But I dared not say no. I am a petite woman, and he towered above me. He was broad and strong. And I had never met a man before. “Yes,” I whispered.
He smiled. I felt fear, for the first time of my existence. He strode across the room. I knew the servants could do nothing. I knew that I could do nothing.
“We are formally engaged, then, Astryn,” he whispered in my ear, “And so you are mine.”
He tore my shift from me, and I shut off my mind. [And that is just as creepy as I remember. *shudders*]
.
After he was done, he left. He told me he would be back later, to bring me home. I heard, but I did not listen. I hurt, but I felt no pain. I was gone, locked away, somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind.
Medina returned the next day. I didn’t realize until later that the servants had called her. She held me, sobbed enough for both of us. “We will deal with this boy, my Ryn,” she swore in a voice I barely recognized, “He will feel the pain he inflicted.”
She cleaned me and burned the bed-clothes. I took a long, warm bath, scoured ever inch of my body, but I still felt dirty. Finally, safe in her arms, I wept. “I didn’t try to fight him, Momma,” I cried, “He was so much bigger than me.”
She kissed my forehead, murmured nonsense words. “I know, my dear. That’s why I shut you away. I did not wish you pain. But pain, it seems, has found you.”
I remembered what he’d said. “He’s coming back, Medina!” I screamed. “He’s coming back!” My body was poised to flee. “I’ll leap out the window, before he takes me again!”
She cupped my face in her hands. “Astryn, you carry a child.”
I collapsed. “What?”
“Not yet, but soon. I can hear his little voice. ‘Momma, Momma,’ he cries. Will you destroy this little boy, innocent of all wrongdoing?” She spoke softly. She would stand beside me, no matter my choice. [To be honest, if I rewrote this now? This isn’t the reason I would use for her having to go with Reuben. I’m not sure what I’d do instead, but I’ve had a personal realization recently that makes this whole scene bug me.]
“Can we not leave, Medina? Can we not go? You are a witch! Can you not kill him?” My voice was wild, panicked. I felt angry with her, for not protecting me better, for not being better prepared. [The way I hear You are a witch in my head has always filled me with glee. I’m not sure why.]
“I cannot kill him, my dear,” she said, not looking at me. “He is protected by magic more powerful than mine. Yes, I know who he was.” She looked around my room. “His presence stains the walls. I cannot kill him outright. But I can...” She turned back to me. “I can give you something. When you are ready, when you know the time has come...” She took a deep breath. “I will prepare a poison, now. It will be ready when he returns.” She stood. [Along with the ‘talents,’ I think I should have fleshed out the different hierarchies of witchcraft. Now that I’m rereading this, I apparently have some awesome world-building tucked away in my head.]
“A poison?” I asked.
She paused by the door to the kitchen. I could already hear the servants bustling around, preparing her ingredients. “I will make the poison, child. And I will leave. When you use it on Rueben, I will know. And I will come back. I will take you and your son and your daughter away from Corin.” She walked into the kitchen.
That was three years ago now. He married me, and he used me, and I gave him children. A beautiful little boy, Donal, and a daughter, Nina. The time has not come, not yet.
My story, being locked in a tower by a witch and rescued by a prince, has become legend. And, like all legends, it is distorted. [Reuben is a smart man. Marrying the commoner he found in the woods? Not likely. Marrying the long-lost princess of a broken country who he rescued? The people love her.]
And I wait for my time. I feel it approaching. I’ll not wait much longer. [There has been no Stockholm syndrome. She feels nothing but hate for him.]
Soon, Rueben will die. [This feels unfinished. And such a boring ending line.]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-13 06:52 pm (UTC)As for stories where the witch is better than the prince, I'm in the process of writing a prologue-thing about the witch, and I'll post it when I'm done. It's good as a stand-alone but barely mentions Rapunzel and her prince, so I'm not sure if I should even call it Rapunzel.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-13 07:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-14 03:22 am (UTC)I'll check it out.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-14 03:21 am (UTC)I may still come back to this at some point, when I'm in fairy tale mood again (I'm being eaten alive by Avengers at the moment). I don't have anything set in mind regarding the hierarchies of witchcraft, just that I set it up to be complicated.
And, yeah. I think Reuben might be one of the worst characters I've thought up.
You could call it something like 'Before the Rampion.'