Rapunzel and the Tower of Light

They said the tower was a prison. But to Rapunzel, it was home. Every wall, every stone, every drop of sunlight that kissed her golden hair had whispered to her since birth. The tower spoke in hums and sighs — alive in its own strange way.

When the prince came, sword shining, heart blazing, she thought freedom would taste sweet. He cut her hair to set her free. The light bled from it like liquid gold.

For the first time, she felt the weight of darkness. The world outside wasn’t filled with songs — only noise. The trees groaned. The people stared. The light within her began to fade.

She tried to sleep, but the whisper of the tower haunted her dreams: “Come back, little sunbeam. The dark will eat you whole.”

One night, she followed that voice back into the woods. The prince awoke to find her gone. In the distance, the tower blazed like a candle rekindled.

When he climbed it again, the walls pulsed like veins of light.

At the top, she sat by the window, hair regrown, smiling faintly.

“I wasn’t trapped,” she said. “I was keeping the darkness out.”

And when he stepped forward, the door closed behind him — forever.