[open commentlog | backdated to day 4 of her amnesia]

[70ftandcounting]

[Fragments of thoughts shift inside of Rapunzel’s mind, and wispy pieces of memory slip away whenever she tried to grasp it. Uncertain as to who she truly is and just what she’s doing here, she’s been wandering the Keep in a listless daze, only eating and drinking when her body reminds her that she is hungry and thirsty, because eating is not something that she remembers to do.
 
She wanders even now, hands loose at her sides and hazel eyes blank and distant while dirty, bare feet take her on an aimless path. Her hair, seventy feet long once more, trails behind her and catches dust and other bits of debris as she walks. The dress she wears is torn and covered in blood, though just who’s it is is questionable. In her hand, she holds a torch that has long been burned out.
 
Approach?]

((ooc: so Rapunzel died. Oops. Feel free to run into her.))

Comments

[70ftandcounting]

[Rapunzel doesn't want to answer this question, because in no way shape or form is this boy going to like what she has to say. Swallowing thickly, she shifts her weight and looks around -- anywhere but his face for the time being. She can't take that pleading look in his eyes, or his heart right there on his sleeve.

She's hurting him, letting him down and she doesn't know how to fix it. Tears prick at her eyes and she blinks them away as much as possible.]

I'm...I'm so sorry...

[yolonceler]

[Nothing ever works out for the Once-ler, does it. Ever. Not his family, not the trees, not the company, not even the goddamn magic castle. He instinctively lifts his hands with the intent to brush away her tears, but lowers them and steps back instead.]

That's... That's fine, don't apologize. It's fine. [It's not fine.] L-listen, uh, welcome to the keep, dinner is at seven, and I... [He runs a hand through his hair.] ... have somewhere to be. So.

[70ftandcounting]

[She fidgets, feeling her insides twist into a knot at the look on his face. She -- wants to remember, to know what he's talking about, but she just doesn't. She's trying, truly she is; her face is scrunched in thought, the tears shimmering in her eyes, but --

She can't. She can't pull up his face, his clothes. Despite the...vague sensation that he's familiar, that 'dancing' rings a bell and a lingering scent of tobacco she still can't remember.]

O-oh.

[She swallows.]

Of course. I'm sorry -- that I kept you.

[yolonceler]

It's okay, no, it's okay. Don't worry about it. See you around, I guess.

[One last look at her face. The Once-ler reassures himself that she might remember one day, or they can just start over from scratch, but he's in such an emotional pit it's hard to boost his spirits. He nods once, curtly, then brushes past her, making for the apothecary. He needs a cigar, he needs a hundred cigars. Anything to get his mind off of... this.

But let's be honest, here. That's not going to happen.]

[70ftandcounting]

[She watches him go, feeling helpless in her inability to remember who he was.

He was important, that much was obvious. Or at least, she was very important to him.

But how?

With a half strangled sob she flees the scene, running in the opposite direction that he had gone, bare feet pounding on the ground until she begins to walk again, momentarily forgetting the conversation that had just happened.]