Prologue

There once lived a small, dull farming family in a small, dull farming community, in a small, dull, kingdom known for it's fine produce and it's lack of scandals. The small family was truly quite tiny, consisting of only the farmer and his wife. Life was good to the two; but sometimes Mirlena's back bent, and Padd's face sagged, as if they wondered why it would not do as well for three.

Still, they strove for long years, and one sticky summer day their efforts came to a head, as Mirlena found she could not force the stays of her dress to cooperate with her. The fabric stretched tight across her belly as she struggled with the laces, and finally she could only think of one explanation. A joyous cry escaped from her as she rushed to tell Padd of the fruit of their efforts, and then she sat with her dresses, and acquainted them to the newfangled sewing machine they had managed to nearly afford.

As Mirlena's middle grew larger, so did her appetite. The farm's capacity to produce edible things was stretched, though Padd attempted to cater to her every craving. Even he, however, had to admit that expensive mangoes from halfway across the world was beyond human ability, especially in the dead of winter.

Her requests climaxed on a day that began regularly. Mirlena, with her hefty midriff considerably weighing her down, was preparing their evening meal, a chore she refused to give up despite the obvious inconveniences. Padd tiptoed carefully passed her, his head bobbing wildly as he avoided any possible collision.

With Padd still behind her, Mirlena turned with a dark phrase that made Padd's eyes bulge significantly. “Don't just stand there,” she ordered with surprising vehemence, “get me some raperonzolo!”

Padd's eyes popped rather more. The herb grew with only the most devoted care, which took time he couldn't spare, or a great deal of sorcery, which he certainly couldn't spare, as he didn't have any in the first place. Mirlena surely knew that!

Mirlena, Padd's sweet young wife, did know that, but the irritable woman she had turned into did not appear to care. He swallowed visibly and took in her disheveled appearance and her face, red from exertion. It did not seem to be the best time to contradict her, but he felt he had to.

His stammered excuses were cut short by a frighteningly angry glare. Padd unconsciously edged away, suppressing whimpers of fear. He was not a particularly cowardly man, but angry glares from pregnant women have scared braver. An irrational, or perhaps rational, part of his brain took the time to wonder how she knew what raperonzolo tasted like. Then again, Mirlena was originally from a larger village than this one, so it was possible she had eaten it in the past.

Padd was not fool enough to follow this line of thinking. Instead, he blubbered again about the risk of asking the local witch for a picking of the precious plant, and again Mirlena sent him a deadly stare.

“I will die if I do not get it,” she seethed.

Padd gulped for air. Logic was not with him tonight, though it seemed that raperonzolo would be or else his wife would not be tomorrow.

Padd's hands were shaking in his pockets as he marched, falsely confident, down the roadside path. With each step, his hands trembled more and his confidence (both true and false) fled speedily. By the time he reached the pineapple gateposts, his wrists were nearly dislocated and his confidence definitely was. Almost of its own accord, his vibrating fist knocked on the newly whitewashed wood, so unlike the weather-beaten boards that served his far humbler home.

The hesitant taps carried unnaturally to the large house, and the young-faced witch appeared at the gate with an unlikely rapidity. A smile beamed, transforming her plain features into something akin to comeliness.

Padd once again gulped. Even the surprisingly youthful characteristics did not quell his apprehension, though his hands stopped trying rearrange their bones. Somehow, without the cooperation of his tongue, he stammered out his query. The witch's smile dimmed, and her face along with it.

“And why should one such as you want an herb like that?” came the fierce reply.

Padd shakily raised and lowered his shoulders while scrambling inwardly for an excuse. He muttered about his wife, heavy with child, and her odd requests, though nothing truly discernible escaped his lips. Nonetheless, the witch caught the gist of his explanations, and her mouth twisted wryly.

“Come.” The witch spun and slipped behind the wall.

Padd followed nervously. It made his spine shiver to enter a place where any sort of magic was practiced, even the little things of a little village. Their steps echoed eerily along the stone=lined path, and Padd had to convince himself that the plants of the witch's extensive garden did not turn at the sound. Eventually the witch stopped at a leafy, dark plant, and picked several leaves.

“There. Here is your raperonzolo, and good luck with it. We will now discuss payment.”

Padd frowned. Payment had not been mentioned, though he hadn't really expected to come away without compensating the witch for her trouble.

She continued, “Raperonzolo is costly. It's worth quite a lot––more than I expect you could pay.” The witch appeared to think. “You said your wife is with child. I will never have such, as no man would take me. Give me the baby.”

Padd's face turned white, and his eyes protruded anew.

“You will have others,” she assured him. “Six, or more. Enough to take care of the farm, which will no longer be yours if you do not let me take the child. I have said that the herb is expensive, very expensive, and the only other thing that will cover the cost is your farm.”

He nodded. There was nothing else he could do; either way he lost the child, and the witch had already plucked the leaves.

Later, after his dark, stumbling walk home, Padd related the sad news to Mirlena. Her face, and then tears, fell, while her hand caressed her burgeoning abdomen almost unconsciously.

When the time came, several months later, the witch turned up at their doorstep before a midwife could be called. As skillfully as any nurse, she helped with the strangely easy birth, and Padd could not shake the feeling that perhaps she was the one who made it so easy. The shivers that had visited him in the witch's garden came back forcefully, magnified by the uncomfortable memory.

After the witch had gone home with the warm bundle, Mirlena smiled wanly. Padd returned the expression, and then they both began to weep with a sadness so profound that, leagues upon leagues upon leagues away, a shepherd seemed to hear it, and on his simple wooden flute played the most beautiful melody that anyone had ever heard.

And Mirlena and Padd thought their part in their daughter's, for it was a daughter, future was over.

AN: OK, well there's the prologue to my retelling of Rapunzel, which, incidentally, is not originally mine. Rather long, isn't it? ^.^ For reference, raperonzolo (or rampion) is actually what the original Grimm's fairy tale centered around, allegedly because of its delicious taste (? It's a vegetable. I like vegetables and all that–it helps that I'm a vegetarian–but come on, vegetables aren't known for their amazing flavors) . It is, in fact, not rare at all, and as above stated, is a vegetable, not an herb. Artistic license and all of that.

WAIT! I forgot to say any alliteration is accidental.

Oh dear...