Rapunzel’s tower stands alone in the center of the overgrown bushes, strewn with thorns, insects and all forms of dangerous life forms. The prince is foolish to ignore the hast in which the old woman drops from the tower and disappears into the bushes leaving her basket behind.

“Rapunzel ! Rapunzel ! let down your hair!!” the Prince calls but the braid is already hanging down the side of the tower, still and coldly lifeless. The prince grabs the braid of silky hair without noticing the frays in the smooth texture – something Rapunzel would never do if she were alive.

The splatter of red stains higher up the braid does not dissuade the prince from his ascent like a moth to a flame. The outcome is inevitable – did the prince hear the growl coming from the tower? -Who knows.

The darkened window is within grasp as the prince grabs onto the ledge and pulls himself up. He should have taken the lack of Rapunzel’s beautiful voice as a sign form above that all is not well. As he leans into the window to pull himself in the prince feels the powerful fist grab his back, from the outside the prince’s legs quickly dart into the dark and the brief cry of shock which is silenced forever.