Rapunzel sits on the sagging bed, her eyes locked on the dark corner where Gio’s corpse slumps, cold and still. The moonlight carves his face into sharp angles, his open eyes staring at nothing. She wills him to stir, to rise and come to her, his scarred hands warm against her skin again. The tower room is silent, save for her shallow breaths and the faint creak of the floorboards, as if the walls hold their breath. The air is thick with lavender and decay, the scent of her hair mingling with the coppery tang of Gio’s blood, pooled beneath him.

A rustle breaks the stillness. In the dark corner, something wakes. Bones clatter, small and brittle, stirring like dry leaves. The cabinet door groans open, its hinges screaming, and a skeletal frame lurches upright. Flesh knits over the bones, sinew weaving like threads on a loom. Hair sprouts, gray and matted, cascading over shoulders that pulse with unnatural life. Mother Gothel takes form, her naked body glistening as if freshly birthed from the void. She snatches a tattered robe from the floor, draping it over her frame, her eyes glinting like polished obsidian.

“Mother!” Rapunzel gasps, her voice a mix of terror and yearning.

“Yes, dear,” Gothel purrs, her voice honeyed venom. “Did the boy attack you?”

“No, but you attacked him!” Rapunzel snaps, her hands trembling as she clutches the furs.

Gothel’s lips curl, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Look in the mirror, honey.”

Rapunzel turns, her breath hitching. The cracked mirror leans against the wall, its clouded surface rippling like a disturbed pond. Her reflection stares back, but it’s not her—it’s Gothel, gray hair framing a face carved with cruel lines. The image flickers, a glitching screen, and for a heartbeat, it shifts to a bony creature, its eye sockets gouged out, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Rapunzel’s stomach lurches, her reflection snapping back to Gothel’s mocking gaze.

“Rapunzel, my dear,” Gothel’s voice slithers from the mirror, “I am you, and you are me. I live your youth, your peace, your pleasure, and you live my trauma, my rage, my discontentedness. I am your alter ego, and you are mine.”

Rapunzel’s scream is a raw, animal thing. She seizes a thick strand of her hair, swinging it like a whip. The golden braid cracks through the air, shattering the mirror into a thousand jagged shards. “You’re not me, old lady!” she roars. “Fuck you, I am a princess!”

Gothel’s laughter erupts, a chorus of cackles spilling from every broken piece, shaking the room like a storm. The tapestries tremble, the jars of glowing herbs rattle. “A princess? You?” Gothel’s voice drips with scorn. “You’re merely a beautiful peasant. You were nothing, and you still are. You will pay for what you’ve done.” Her form lunges from the mirror, claws outstretched, but she’s trapped, her body dissolving into the shards, her screams fading into a hiss.

A faint clink draws Rapunzel’s eye. Gio’s body shifts, a locket slipping from his neck to the floor. She crawls to it, her hair dragging like a funeral shroud. The locket is small, silver, worn smooth by time. She pries it open, revealing a handcrafted image—a woman, beautiful and serene, holding a little girl in her arms. The micro-details are lifelike, their eyes sparkling with love. Rapunzel’s chest tightens, her breath shallow.

“Poor Gio,” Gothel’s voice whispers, seeping from the dark corner. “He took your innocence, and you took his life—and his family’s love.”

Rapunzel’s head snaps to the mirror’s shards, her glare silencing the voice. The fragments reflect only her face now, pale and tear-streaked. “You are me, my daughter,” Gothel’s final whisper echoes before the corner falls silent, the shadows still.

Rapunzel turns to Gio, her hands shaking. She wraps his corpse in her hair, the golden strands coiling around him like a lover’s embrace, covering his wounds, his broken neck. She begins to sing, her voice trembling but resolute, a chant that hums with ancient power. “As the hair is restored after a cut, let the life be restored. Let wounds be healed and lacerations be sealed.” The words pulse, the air shimmering. Gio’s wounds knit, the gashes in his belly closing, the blood on his feet drying. But his eyes remain blank, his chest still.

“No,” she whispers, pumping his chest with her fists. She breathes into his cold lips, willing life into him, but he doesn’t stir. “Wake up, Gio!” she begs, her voice breaking. She hits harder, her strength surging, unnatural and wild. Her fists crash through his ribcage with a sickening crunch, bones splintering, jagged edges tearing new lacerations. Blood gushes, warm and thick, soaking her hands, the furs, the floor. She screams, a wail that shakes the tower, but Gio is gone, his body a ruined shell.

“You are sick!” Gothel’s voice sneers in her mind, sharp and fleeting, then vanishes.

Rapunzel collapses, naked and cold, her body racked with sobs. The tower room closes in, its walls a tomb, the dark corner a silent witness to her sorrow. She lies on the blood-soaked floor, her hair tangled around her, a golden noose that binds her to her grief.