Rapunzel stared at the ceiling. Lying on the bed, she percieved her paralysed body as a fortress, her eyes as two-way mirrors that let her look out but allowed none to see in. Since the fall she hadn’t let anyone touch her apart from Elsa, the old nurse.


Every evening, Elsa’s spiny fingers would unwind Rapunzel’s long, golden hair, teasing out the knots and winding it back up again. Her hooked, warted nose and bristly chin constantly invaded the tranquillity of Rapunzel’s tower - altering her position, hauling her into the wheelchair, carting her off for the daily ‘stroll’ around the gardens and bathing her.
All the time, Elsa would crackle about Rapunzel trying to move for herself. “It might be possible, the doctors say, if you’ll only try.” And each time, Rapunzel would close her eyes to shut out the pointless pleas.

When Elsa was called away to a family tragedy, another nurse was sent to replace her. Daniel was young, his hair dark and his eyes full of sparkle. The first time he tried to touch her, Rapunzel screeched, just like with all the others, but Daniel ignored her dramatics, laid his hands softly upon her and lifted her into the wheelchair.

He let down her hair next to the lake, combed it and left it loose. The wind danced through it and refreshed Rapunzel until the windows of her eyes opened and Daniel saw her tears and her smile.

That night, as she lay staring at the ceiling, she pictured him reflecting her smile and she wiggled her toes.

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