In the dead of night, the tower room hums with restless energy. Rapunzel twists in the furs, rolling over and over, her body a storm of irritation. Her hair writhes with her, a golden serpent coiling tighter around the bed. She mutters under her breath, fragmented words—Mother, no, not again—her voice a child’s whimper one moment, a woman’s growl the next. The air grows thick, heavy with the scent of lavender and sweat, the walls seeming to pulse with her agitation.

Gio stirs, his instincts prickling. He grabs her hands, firm but gentle, pinning them to the furs. Her eyes snap open, wide and glassy, catching the moonlight like twin mirrors. For a heartbeat, she’s still, her breath ragged. Then her face softens, and her voice shifts, femininely mature, laced with a warmth that feels too deliberate. “Oh, you’re still here. I thought you were gone.”

He loosens his grip, unnerved by her sudden calm. “I’m right here,” he says, his voice low, though the room’s oppressive heat makes his skin crawl.

She sits up, her hair parting to reveal her lush, naked body—curves glowing in the silver light, a vision that steals his breath. The strands cascade back down, cloaking her like a living shroud, but not before he catches the sway of her posterior as she stands. She pauses, feeling his gaze, and turns, her eyes sharp. “Look away,” she says, her voice a mix of coyness and command. “Hide. Fast. I hear Mother Gothel’s footsteps. You should hide while I see…”

Gio smiles, charmed despite the warning bells in his gut. He obeys, sliding to the floor and crawling under the bed. The dust chokes him, clawing at his nostrils, and he clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle a sneeze. Through the slats, he watches Rapunzel move to the window, her bare feet silent on the wood. She leans out, her hair shimmering as she tosses it over the pulley, a waterfall of gold that hums faintly, alive with unnatural light.

A motherly voice echoes from below, sharp and commanding. “Rapunzel, I’m home!”

“Coming, Mother!” Rapunzel calls, her tone obedient but strained. The pulley cre ↓aks, and Gio’s heart pounds. He strains to see, expecting Gothel’s boots to appear, but only Rapunzel’s small, unmarked feet pace the floor. Voices clash above him—Rapunzel’s soft pleas, Gothel’s guttural snarls—but they’re wrong, overlapping, coming from the same throat. His blood runs cold. There’s only one set of feet. Only one shadow.

“I smell a fucking man in here!” Gothel’s voice booms, now unmistakably Rapunzel’s, twisted into a venomous rasp. “Where is he? Are you hiding him?”

A struggle erupts—gasps, thumps, the sound of flesh grappling. Rapunzel chokes, a strangled cry that ignites Gio’s rage. He rolls from under the bed, dust clouding his vision, ready to strike. “Here he is!” Rapunzel’s voice crows, but before he can see her, something whips across his face—a lash of fire that splits his eyes. Pain explodes, white-hot, and his world goes black. He staggers, blind, clutching his face as blood seeps through his fingers.

Threads pool at his feet, his hands, tightening like vines. Not threads—hair. “Hair,” he gasps, the word a prayer and a curse. The strands are alive, coiling like snakes, their grip iron-strong. He hears Rapunzel’s voice, pleading, “Mother, spare him! Please!” But it’s her hands he feels, her breath he hears, close and frantic.

“She’s using your hair to hit me, Rapunzel! Stop her!” Gio shouts, his voice hoarse. No response comes, only the hair’s relentless pull, wrapping his neck, squeezing tight. It drags him across the floor, splinters biting his skin, toward the window. He thrashes, blind and helpless, his boots scrabbling for purchase. Miraculously, he finds his footing, standing just as a body slams into him—soft, fever-hot, unmistakably Rapunzel’s. The impact sends him crashing against the window ledge, and he tumbles out into the void.

“Gio!” she screams, her voice raw with panic. The hair jerks taut, catching him mid-fall, but the force snaps his neck with a sickening crack. Pain lances through him, his body dangling like a broken marionette. “Gio! I’ll pull you up!” she cries, her voice trembling.

“No!” he rasps, his voice a whisper through the agony. “Don’t pull the rope! I’m a foot over the ground—I can land!” But she doesn’t listen. The hair tightens, strangling him as she hauls him upward. His tendons snap, his spine screams, each tug a fresh torment. The pulley squeaks, and in his delirium, it speaks: It’s her, it’s her! Use your knife, cut the hair! He fumbles for his pockets, only to realize he’s naked, his knife lost in the furs. The hair pulls faster, relentless, and his body gives out, cold and limp, as he nears the window.

He’s dead before he reaches the ledge, his flesh already cooling. Rapunzel’s hands pull him inside, cradling him like a lover. “Oh no, my Gio,” she sobs, her voice fading as if from a great distance. “I couldn’t save you in time.”

She drops to her knees, tears streaming, and turns to the dark corner of the room. The shadows seem to pulse, a void that swallows light. “Fuck you, Mother!” she screams, her voice raw with grief and rage. “Can’t I have anything good to myself?” Her sobs fill the room, broken and childlike, as she clutches Gio’s body.

She drags him to the dark corner, propping him to sit against the wall, his head lolling. She kisses his cold lips, a desperate, reverent press of warmth against death. His eyes snap open—blank, unseeing, a final mockery of life. Rapunzel freezes, then moves with purpose. She retrieves the knife, the same blade that cut her apple pie, now glinting with moonlight. The first stab is tentative, piercing his belly. The second is sure, the third frantic. Blood trickles warm over his cold feet, pooling on the floor. Gio groans, a death rattle, and his body slumps, truly gone.

Rapunzel stares at him, her hands trembling, the knife clattering to the floor. The dark corner watches, silent and hungry.

 The Hair That Binds