Page 103 of Down from the Tower

Her breathing is ragged, and the next breath is her last. I finger the handle of my scythe, watching as the Queen’s soul leaves her body, cool wisps of soul floating up to form the ghostly outside of the dead ruler.

Dorah’s wispy form looks down at her body in disbelief, saying nothing.

And Rapunzel, for all her grace, moves forward and swipes her hands through the ghost, making her disappear. Dorah appears again a moment later to glare at her.

“That’s what you get,” the princess growls, turning from her. “You lived your whole life as a heartless creature. Congratulations, you’ve finally become one.”

Rapunzel ignores the voice of her mother as she paces the room. “We need to go find Midas.”

I lift a brow, looking her over. Without the spectacle of her hair, I can see she’s burned off half of her dress, and there’s blood splattered on her cheeks and chest from ripping apart the Queen. Dorah is blissfully quiet for the time being, probably in shock over her violent death to say much of anything to her daughter.

“You need to take a breath,” I tell her, and she turns those enraged eyes on me. “I’m not saying we won't deal with the Golden King the same way. But you’re shaking, and a wired fighter is liable to make a mistake. Breathe.”

She looks one step away from stabbing me with something, but instead she whirls away and begins to pace again. She should sit down for a moment, or at the very least leave the room, but she’s burning in her hatred and won’t settle down.

This goes on for a few minutes, and she moves to kick open the book on the ground. I glance down at it, its spine completely broken, and wonder if she even looked at the title.

Not that I think she cares.

Her hands tremble as she moves around the room, and I notice that she avoids walking directly next to Dorah’s lifeless body although her hair is now long enough that the ends drag through the blood.

At length, she moves to the closest piece of furniture - one of the covered cribs - and takes a shuddering breath.

“You set fire to your crib at three months,” Dorah says, and I snap my neck around to glare at her. The hard edge her eyes held in life is gone, and she looks traumatized by her death. Not all spirits bounce back like Modred did. “That one. By the wall. We transferred you to Rosen’s crib after that.”

Rapunzel snarls, and I shake my head at the dead Queen. “I would stop talking.”

But she doesn’t listen, going on as her eyes look down hopelessly. “The tea we gave you helped to control the outbursts. After you drank the golden tea, we only used the leaves of the Phoenix Rose to keep you from losing control. You were so… powerful. Too powerful for an infant.”

“At least my parents didn’t throw me away to a Mad Queen,” she growls back.

But Dorah is ignorant to Rapunzel’s rage, and I’ve seen this before. Souls cope differently with death, and hers is regretful. “People began gossiping through the kingdom because you had hair to your shoulders that gleamed gold by barely a month old. It was unholy to have a child like you when the rumors were rampant about Rosen’s death.”

“You didn’t give her a chance. She was an infant,” Rapunzel snaps.

“She was weak,” Dorah snarls, her sadness morphing to anger. “And now you’ve brought the same kind of weakness to our kingdom again. Do you know what we got from the Mad Queen for gifting her a child touched by gold, dead or not? She didn’t come knocking on the walls, demanding we stand with her kingdom. She’s already in the ears of people from Thornton, Camelot, and Swan Lake. She’s everywhere. But she let us be because we had enough bartering chips.”

“Rosen never mattered to you at all,” she whispers. “And if I’m not useful, neither do I.”

Dorah shrugs, staring down at her transparent hands. For a parent who could kill she’s adjusting poorly to being dead. “We’ve gotten rid of those who stand to hurt Tressa.”

“Or the royal family.” My fingers close over the blade, staring down. I need to pull it, and I know I could heal at least some with it still embedded in me. Once I make a move, Dorah will be on me. “Like Gothel Tremaine.”

“Gothel?” Dorah says, lifting her gaze. “Who told you about Gothel!?”

Rapunzel grins, but it isn’t a kind look. “Does it matter? She accomplished her task, got that flower from the garden in the Red Woods, and you had her killed. I always thought my father's mistress died rather suddenly. I never realized you continued to make her children serve the family that destroyed them.”

Dorah sneers. “They stayed because the poor don’t have a choice. It was either this or the streets. And if children go to the streets, they are likely to end up dead. Their souls would become property of the King.”

I narrow my eyes, but Rapunzel speaks first. “What are you talking about?”

She starts laughing, the sinister side of the Queen shining through. When she looks back at us, her forehead is wrinkled and her smile is pulling too high at the corners. Even as a spirit, she cannot hide her true form.

Rapunzel gasps. “Harpy.”

“Well, some rumors are true,” she says dismissively, waving a hand. “The dead in Tressa serve a different purpose than those outside the wall. Midas fought to keep his power intact. The Golden Touch is taxing, Rapunzel. It takes a great amount of work to control. The people of Tressa are blessed by a King who keeps the outside horrors at bay. In turn, when their spirits pass on, they go to Midas.”

“That’s not how it works,” I interrupt, and Dorah’s distorted face twists towards me. “Souls belong to themselves in death. Tortured, pained, or accepting, their only purpose is to pass on. Using spiritual energy for anything else plays at being God, and neither of you are powerful enough to claim that title.”

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