Tower Descended: A Rapunzel Retelling

Wherein We Meet the Girl.

Chapter One

Prison life wasn't as bad as living on the run. She had somewhere to lay her head, three meals a day, the chance to spend time in the well-stocked library. Best of all, every day wasn't filled with dread and expectation that someone was going to betray and execute her. The bounty on her head didn't stipulate that she needed to be turned in alive, and it was easier to transport a dead prisoner.

That's what prompted her to turn herself in. Even though she didn't kill that man on the roadside, she did everything she could to save his life. People see a blood soaked shirt and a knife in the back pocket, that's all they need to infer all the wrong conclusions.

And of course, she ran. The entire neighborhood was looking for her. The man's family especially. There was little guarantee that she'd have made it to the authorities after they got their hands on her. Running was the only option that didn't end in her body being discarded in the woods behind the community center at the southern edge of the subdivision.

A loud alarm blared overhead, signaling lunchtime.

Zela sat up on her cot, it groaned under her slight weight as she stood and approached the rusted bars. Another blaring alarm and the door slid open. She stepped onto the catwalk and fell into line, marching down the narrow stairs in a row of women. They filed into the mess hall and the lunch line.

Behind the row of heat tables and bulletproof glass, the grizzled faces of older women in the same, drab grey jumpsuits that the women in line wore. They were given the benefit of working in the cafeteria for their bad behavior. Hours on their feet, few to no breaks, forced to cook some of the vilest concoctions known to magikind.

As the smell wafted through the holes in the glass, Zela fought through the urge to gag. Biting the inside of her cheek until tears welled in her eyes, she gave in and turned her head as she passed the first trays of food. Those were always the worst. For her, at least. The banshees were fond of that slop.

In the next clump of pans, food for harpies. Closer to a squirming plate of intestines, still alive and putting up a fight. This one wasn't quite as putrid, but the sight nearly made her faint every time.

Two more displays of gruesome whatever, fit only for the more animalistic and primitive of the incarcerated magikind, and she was in the realm of almost normal food. There wasn't much left by the time she got there. Being detained in the "high risk" cellblocks with the more inhuman creatures meant she was farther from the humanoids and further back in the line than they were.

All that was left were bits and pieces of bread, a few leaves of lettuce with carrots scattered throughout. And something that resembled stewed rabbit meat. Judging by the smell, it turned last week. But the kitchen staff couldn't care less if they served spoiled food. Prison wasn't a lofty vacation, there were no special orders. And if the inmates got sick and died from the food, that was one more bed free to the undesirables on the streets.

Zela settled for the pieces of bread and what remained of the salad, scraping what she could onto the cardboard dish on her tray.

Leaving the lunchline, she headed for the farthest wall in the back of the bustling cafeteria. She kept her eyes trained on the edge of her tray, careful not to look at anyone directly. She learned her lesson the first night when she was nearly killed by a Norn for glancing at the sprawling branches sticking from her back.

Instead, she made herself as small as possible and slipped past every table until she reached the last one against the wall. It was empty and always would be. No one sat so close to the guard's station for any reason. It was the safest place for someone like her. Someone without an outright ability that she could use to defend herself. Which was just about as necessary as air in Liverean, the super max for dangerous magikind in Elmswick. Also known as "The Tower".