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“I wish you and Hazel wouldn’t fret over Mother so much, Gothel. She will be with us for at least another hundred years.”
“I hope so. It could take that long to teach us everything she knows.”
Primrose stood up from the bed, went to Gothel’s closet, and pulled out a dark burgundy velvet dress and a black velvet cloak. “Here! I think you should wear this! Hazel is wearing her silver. You won’t want to be the only sister who isn’t dressed for the occasion.”
“What occasion is that?”
“Mother’s ceremony, silly! I’ve already told her we are all taking the blood this evening at sunset. She’s in the conservatory now, making preparations!”
“Do you think she will actually let us in there?”
“Maybe…in another fifty years!” said Primrose, laughing. “You know how Mother is. Do you have any idea what’s in there?”
“I think it’s rapunzel.”
“Who?”
“It’s a flower. The only thing that grows in these woods lives in that conservatory.”
“How do you know all of this?” asked Primrose.
“I’ve been reading Mother’s journals for years. The flower has been in our family for generations. It will be part of our responsibility to keep it alive after Mother is gone.”
“You’re so weird, Gothel.”
Gothel flinched. “Weird? Why?”
“Nothing! Never mind. I love you.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? You’re not just doing it for me, are you?” asked Gothel, afraid Primrose would change her mind.
“Stop worrying, Gothel. I’m doing this so we can always be together. Just make me one promise: when you’re queen of the dead, you won’t ever kill the children of the villagers.”
“I promise.”
“Together forever, right?”
“Together forever.”
The stone path leading to the conservatory where Gothel’s mother spent most of her time was flanked with dead weeping willows that quivered in the wind, making eerie patterns of light on the pathway. Gothel walked alone, taking in her surroundings. She loved the statues of weeping angels along the path, some of them peeking from behind the trees, others so old they were crumbling, with their faces chipped away by time. There was one Gothel loved most. Her favorite angel. She was made of black marble and covered in dried moss. The angel’s face was covered with her hands. Gothel imagined the angel was weeping for all the dead that slumbered in their woods. Crying for an eternity. And somehow that made Gothel feel better. She wouldn’t ever need to cry for the dead; the angel would cry for her.
The angel would cry forever.
Gothel wondered how many women before her had walked the path to the conservatory, contemplating the angels. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was going to the conservatory other than she knew her mother was there and some inexplicable force was leading Gothel to her mother.
The conservatory was a beautiful building constructed of paned glass, like a giant greenhouse but architecturally much more stunning. It was a large structure that could be seen from the mansion, resembling a glittering jewel in the o
therwise stark landscape. As Gothel got closer to the conservatory, she wondered what she was doing there. She had never bothered her mother while she was doing her magic, not once. She’d never even asked to be let in the conservatory, but she felt different that day; somehow, she felt more powerful and brave knowing later she would be gaining some of her mother’s powers. Something about that day was different.
“Something about today is different, my pet,” said her mother, standing in the doorway of the conservatory.
“Mother! I didn’t see you standing there.”
“Would you like to come inside, Gothel?”
“Umm…sure,” said Gothel, walking tentatively to join her mother.
“Don’t be nervous, my sweet. One day this will be your place of power.” She smiled at Gothel, reached out her hand, and said, “Come inside.”
