Towers Read online

  Towers

  A Fractured Fairy Tale

  Rapunzel Retelling

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Towers: A Rapunzel Retelling

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part TWO | Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Further Reading: Pin-Up Girls Prep

  Chelli Larsen

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Chelli Larsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  For more information contact: [email protected]

  FIRST EDITION

  www.chellilarsen.com

  Dedication

  TO ALL OF THOSE THAT run on uneven legs and climb mountains with only one good arm. To the people that stand up for what is right, especially when it’s unpopular. I wrote this story just for you.

  For my nieces, Hannah, Abbey, Mylee, Eva, Emery, Alivia, Maya, Ivy, and Violet. Fairy tales often depict the perfect hero that saves the beautiful heroine. As nice as that is, I wanted a heroine that was just as flawed as you and me. Rather than be rescued, I wanted her to find the strength we all have inside of us. Whether your struggles are visible or not, we all have them. That doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a happily ever after. You deserve everything the world has to offer.

  So, to all those that are bravely defying the structures society has placed on them—and to anyone who feels lost in the in-between, unlovable, or forgotten—this story is for you. Go out and be the hero of your own story. I can’t wait to see you fly.

  Chapter 1

  ROMY - NINE YEARS OLD

  Romy raced as fast as her uneven legs would carry her down the garden path, the taunting screams from the local village children still ringing in her ears as she stumbled over the rough ground.

  “Stupid!”

  “Ugly!”

  “Deformed!”

  “Retarded!”

  The hateful comments taunted her as if they were on auto repeat playing again and again, each more sinister than the last.

  The village children had stopped chasing her more than a mile back, but Romy kept on running as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. She didn’t stop until she saw her old Papa, plowing the fields.

  In a move that was so utterly heart-wrenching it nearly drew tears to her father’s eyes. Romy threw herself into his strong arms and allowed the emotion she’d been holding at bay to finally release.

  “Child, whatever happened to upset you so?”

  Romy’s Papa was the perfect mixture of tenderhearted and tough forest folk. She melted into his embrace.

  Papa patted her back and began to rock her back and forth, much like he had when she was a small child. Romy had suffered with nightmares when she first came to live with Papa. There had been many sleepless nights as Papa sat by her bed and sang lullabies in a language she didn’t understand.

  “I can’t help you, Romy, if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  Romy tried to answer, she really did. However, the words were frozen in the back of her throat, or perhaps tangled up in the huge ball of emotion that was lodged there. The tears wouldn’t stop falling no matter how hard she willed them away. Angrily, Romy swiped at them with her fingers.

  “You were right, Papa,” she said thickly. “You are always right.”

  They didn’t deserve her tears. How often had her Papa told her that? Romy knew that her father could smell the rotten vegetables that were still clinging to her cloak. It permeated the air even now. The shame was threatening to drown her whole.

  Why? Romy chastised herself. Why had she attempted to take the radishes to Mr. Johnson? Hadn’t she known what would happen? Hadn’t Papa warned her?

  “Romy, please, tell me what happened,” her father begged as he pushed the thick black curls back, exposing her tear-streaked cheeks. “You look miserable.”

  She felt miserable.

  “Now,” Papa said firmly. “What did they do?”

  Finally, able to manage a few words, Romy shook her head. “It’s nothing, Papa.”

  “Bah!” Papa scoffed. “This does not look like nothing. This is definitely something.”

  Romy shrugged in his arms. Refusing to meet his eyes, she said, “You know that I am not like other children.”

  His brow raised. “Do I now? And here I was under the impression that you were just a child yourself.”

  Romy finally met his gaze. Scowling at her Papa, she said, “You know what I am.”

  Papa’s jaw jutted out. He was every bit as stubborn as Romy. “I know you are speaking nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?” Romy began to list her imperfections. “My legs are uneven, so I limp when I walk. My arm is misshapen and doesn’t bend properly. My brows are far too thick for my face. My mouth is too large, and don’t get me started on my hair.”

  Papa’s pretended to evaluate Romy. “I can see your brows: they are strong and deliberate, just like you. I see your hair: it is wild and free, just like my daughter’s heart. Who wants legs of the same length? That is boring.”

  “Papa!” Romy stamped her foot impatiently. “You are being ridiculous. Besides, you have to love me, that’s what Papa’s do.”

  “No, child. That’s what Papa’s should do.”

  Romy went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Why do the children hate me? I know I am not much to look at, but I am smart! I can do everything they can!”

  “Listen to me, Romy. Those children they are nothing but magpies, squawking about nonsense and trying to be heard over the other. You, Romy, you are a raven: wise, brave, and strong. Why do you wish to be a magpie when you are far superior?”

  Romy sighed discontentedly. Her Papa would never understand what it was like to be hated and reviled on sight. She just wanted to fit in, to have a friend. Instead, the children seemed to delight in tormenting her.

  “Who was it?” Papa demanded, turning and looking back down the path toward the village. “I will go and give them a piece of my mind!”

  Romy shook her head, knowing far better than to snitch on anyone. In the end, it always ended up worse for her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “If it’s not one it’s another.”

  Papa grunted. “So you have said, but I would imagine that it does matter a great deal. Was it the city dweller children or that boy with magic?”

  Romy twisted her fingers behind her back in an attempt to cover her lie. “It was neither. I didn’t know them.”

  Papa stared at Romy for a long while. Attempting to avoid his knowing gaze, Romy foc
used on the things around her. She heard the rustling of leaves as the breeze danced through the trees, its soft caress brushing her skin. Sadly, with it brought the smell of the rotting fruit.

  Frowning, Romy tried to connect with the comforts of the forest. Papa had said there was a time when the forest was filled with other forest folk. But now there was only Papa and Romy.

  Papa blew out a frustrated breath. “That is a load of pig swill if I have ever heard it. However, I won’t force you to tell your secrets. Now, let’s put some of that energy into these peas, shall we?”

  Pig swill.

  Romy couldn’t help the way her lips began to twitch, itching to turn into a full smile. Papa always had a way of making Romy feel better.

  She couldn’t help but be grateful that he had dropped the subject, but she knew it was far from over. As much as she wished to stick her head in the sand and pretend that the problem would go away, things of that nature only got worse when you didn’t deal with them.

  Chapter 2

  ROMY TOOK HER PAPA’S hand and followed him back to where he had been working in the garden. In the nine years she had walked this earth, Romy had known heartache, abandonment, and sorrow. But it wasn’t until Papa that she finally knew love.

  He was a simple man. He loved God, the forest, and plants—in that particular order. Romy liked to think that she fit somewhere up there with God. She loved the things that Papa did as well. She honestly did. But sometimes she had different ideas of how to go about things.

  “Papa, why can’t I just help the peas along?”

  Papa turned to her with a scowl. “Romy, there is beauty in the process of growing something from a seed. You don’t have to rush everything, child. Sometimes the best things are given to those who are patient enough to wait for them.”

  Romy cocked her hip to the side, helping to alleviate the ache in her hip. It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, and clearly Papa could see it.

  “Romy listen to me. I know you are young, and I am just an old man who tells you what to do.” Papa made a funny face that caused Romy to laugh. He smiled softly at her laughter before he continued. “Child, you must never let anyone find out that you have magic.”

  “Papa, you have told me that so many times that I am not likely to forget.”

  “And yet you want to openly spell the plants to produce more fruit. You would also cause the weeds to pluck themselves if you had the chance.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Romy muttered.

  “Don’t you realize that they would try and take you away from me?” Papa shook his head. “There are three types of people in our world, Romy. The forest folk, the city dwellers, and those with magic. There are so few who have the gift of magic these days that wars are fought over them. They become commodities and not people. I won’t have that for you. You deserve better.”

  Romy bit her lip. “I understand.”

  “No,” Papa replied, shaking his head sadly. “You think that I am being hard on you, and perhaps I am. But I have seen the way they treated my people. You would think we were garbage beneath their feet. Now they have all left and it is only me.”

  “And me,” Romy added.

  A ghost of a smile passed his lips as he patted her shoulder. “And my daughter. But you and I both know if they found out about the magic, they would take you away.”

  A pit of anxiety appeared in Romy’s stomach. Everything Papa had said was true. Romy needed to be careful. “Of course, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “There now.” Papa pulled her into a hug. “I know you meant to help, and I appreciate it. Your magic is a beautiful thing, Romy. I don’t want to make you sad. I only wish to point out that we already have a target on our backs. Let’s not give them any arrows.”

  Romy nodded and picked up the rake that had fallen into the dirt. For the next two hours they worked together in silence, both wrapped up in their own minds.

  Romy couldn’t help but wonder if the children would have liked her had she been beautiful. One often overlooked a myriad of faults when beauty was involved. However, as she pictured Leon, the village bully, she couldn’t imagine him caring one way or the other.

  Leon’s father was the local ruler of their village. It was said that their family was closely related to the king. Romy wasn’t sure if that was true or not. However, Leon acted like he owned everything. So that led her to believe that maybe the rumor was true.

  The villagers flocked to Leon even though he was hardly any older than Romy. It was true that people were a little crazy when magic was involved. Perhaps that is why Leon thought he was better than everyone else—especially Romy.

  Parts of her wanted to show him that she too could wield a spell. But that would only lead down a path that Romy didn’t want to go. Leon wasn’t supposed to use magic unless the city elders or the king required it of him.

  Their kingdom had firm rules about using magic against another individual, especially if you meant to take away their will or, worse, do them harm. Then there were rules that went above what the kingdom could dictate.

  Magic itself contained rules, such as you could not use magic on another magical person. It was because of this that Romy was terrified that Leon might find out that she had magic.

  Up until this point, Romy had pretended his silly spells had worked, which, according to Papa, took a great deal of excellent acting. Romy smiled to herself. Papa always did have a way of spinning the worst of things into something better altogether.

  Leon often ranted and cursed when he thought a spell had gone wrong. The only thing that was wrong was that he had pointed it directly toward her. That didn’t mean he still couldn’t torture Romy. He delighted in placing mud puddles directly in her path. Or snakes right next to her shoe.

  The other children would laugh and point fingers. Nobody would go against him. The rest of the children were city dwellers. If the forest folk were the bottom of the food chain, and the people with magic were at the top. The city dwellers came smack dab in the middle. Papa said they were little better than sheep, always running blindly after whoever was talking loudest. The children often fought for Leon’s attention, only causing him to become more conceited.

  It all rather sickened Romy. She just wanted one friend. How unfair was it that Leon had dozens he mistreated, and Romy couldn’t find one?

  It saddened Romy far more than she cared to admit. Caught between two worlds, Romy didn’t fit with anyone. After all, to the children of the village Romy was forest folk—little more than a servant.

  Looking up, Romy saw an array of autumn colors as the sun began to set over the hills. She found her spirits lifting as she watched the sky deepen. Things would find a way to resolve themselves. There had to be way.

  “It’s time to go in, Papa,” Romy said at last.

  Papa lifted his head and saw what Romy was pointing to. “I see that it is.” He wiped the sweat that had been clinging to his brow. “How right you are, Romy! Let’s go get us some supper, shall we?”

  After gathering the tools and loading the ripened fruit and vegetables into the wheelbarrow, the two set off for home. The small cottage had a bedroom downstairs and a loft that Papa had hung a curtain over so Romy could have some privacy. She loved her little room and straw bed. Papa allowed her to make sure their home was rodent free; apparently that level of magic was acceptable to him.

  “Would you like some stew?” Romy asked as she went over to the fire to check the old iron oven. Thankfully it was nice and warm from the embers of the dying fire. Using a pulley system, she removed the lid and began to prepare them supper.

  Once their bellies were full, her cheeks were no longer splotchy, and her eyes were no longer rimmed with red. Papa asked, “Now, no more fretting over it. I wish to know what happened in the village that upset you today.”

  Romy sighed, twisting her hands together. “I was almost to the market with the radishes you sent for Mr. Johnson. I was maybe ten steps away when I felt the
hair on the back of my neck raise. Someone was preforming magic, and I knew it could only be Leon. I stepped to the right and avoided a cow pie he had placed right where I had been about to walk. But in the effort to avoid Leon, I ran into Mr. Johnson and dropped the basket of radishes.”

  Papa winced. “Mr. Johnson can have a fine temper on him. Was that the worst of it?”

  Romy shook her head and confessed it all. “Mr. Johnson exploded with anger and curse words, much like you would expect. But it was the children who started to throw things at me while calling me names. Everyone was laughing, the adults and children alike.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t go near the place,” Papa said savagely. “They are horrible people that don’t deserve your kindness, Romy.”

  “How am I to find a friend if I don’t go near the village? We haven’t seen another family of forest folk for years. They have all left this place.”

  Papa’s brows snapped together angrily. “And is it any wonder why? I wish you didn’t insist on selling our vegetables to these city dwellers. I would wash my hands of the lot of them and be a thousand times happier that I did. Life has no room for idiocy.”

  “I tried to ignore them, just like you taught me. But it was too much. I couldn’t control my temper.”

  “What did you do?” Papa asked worriedly.

  “I didn’t use magic,” Romy added hurriedly. “But I did tell Mr. Johnson that it would be more likely that his old mule would dance a jig than we would be selling him any more radishes. That shut him up—right and tight.”

  Papa’s lips twitched. “I would pay good money to see Otis dance a jig. He’s a stubborn old mule.”

  “Are you angry, Papa?”

  Papa sighed and thought about the words he wanted to say. “I am angry that they hurt you, child. I am sad that they can’t see past the ends of their nose. But I am not upset with you. I only wish that you wouldn’t see yourself through their eyes.”

  “I don’t understand,” Romy replied with a frown.

  Papa stood from the table and began to clear away the dishes. “I know, Romy. Hopefully some day you will. I will do the dishes. You go on now. Go rest yourself on the porch and see if you can spot a flying star.”