What Once Was Mine Quotes

“Last to check was her namesake: a rampion or bellflower, Campanula rapunculus-- little turnip. All by itself in a beautiful Spanish clay pot with a bright blue glaze. Its blooms were pinky-purple stars, tiny but perfect and delicate.
Sometimes, if she was feeling down, Rapunzel would secretly break off a leaf and chew it, the sour/bitter taste comforting her through the worst of the drab winter months when nothing else grew.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Last to check was her namesake: a rampion or bellflower, Campanula rapunculus-- little turnip. All by itself in a beautiful Spanish clay pot with a bright blue glaze. Its blooms were pinky-purple stars, tiny but perfect and delicate.
Sometimes, if she was feeling down, Rapunzel would secretly break off a leaf and chew it, the sour/bitter taste comforting her through the worst of the drab winter months when nothing else grew.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Now directly above her, transiting the meridian, was the new crescent moon. No longer a chalky white, it was as silver as a piece of polished jewelry, somehow shining and sparkling despite the fact that it should have been nearly invisible that close to the sun, traveling through his bright day.
"Oh, how pret---" Rapunzel started to say, but then she was distracted because her hair began to glow.
Just like when she killed the chickens-- but more.
Brilliantly, with the white light of the diamonds of her (Flynn's) crown, with the whiteness she imagined the foam of a midnight sea would look like. She picked up a hank of hair and let it hang from her hands; it was like holding molten silver chains or all the distant rivers seen from her tower, gathered up together by some unimaginable fairy-tale giant.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Now the three were in a tiny magical clearing in the forest: lime-green moss and tiny, sweet-scented flowers not seen elsewhere in the dark woods grew in profusion. In the middle of it a crystal-clear spring burbled whose waters were supposed to have healing properties. No one said it aloud, but it was very clear this was exactly the sort of place the king-- or queen-- of the forest would live: a golden-antlered stag, a snow-white hart, or...”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Rapunzel carefully unpinned the largest coils of hair piled on top of her head. Then she put on the crown and turned to look in the mirror.
She didn't want to think it... she wasn't that kind of person... but...
The crown fit her perfectly. The colors of the stones were accentuated by her own coloring, and the other way around.
She looked like a princess.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Flynn was leaning against the side of the house, legs crossed, an ironic smile on his face. He must have been up for a while; he had obviously taken pains to wash his face and neck and arms (at least; that was just all Rapunzel could see) and straighten his hair so it was parted dashingly to one side. She wondered, for a moment, whose comb he had borrowed, or if he had his own stashed away somewhere like his knives.
He was stupidly, ridiculously handsome.
Even with the stupid, ridiculously fake smile on his face.
Not at all the worst thing to wake up to.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Soon Rapunzel's hair spilled out around her like a silver pond sparkling in the sunlight, or a frozen one in the moonlight. When the breeze shifted the branches above, the sun hit her tresses and its light scattered everywhere. The whole area under the tree was illuminated with shifting, dappled scintillations.
Rapunzel wondered what it would look like from far away, from high above: would she look like a funny star? Were all the stars out there maidens with strange hair?”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She took out a charcoal stick and began to sketch-- on the workbench itself. Of course the moon wouldn't come to her in songs or poems or crystals or whatever... she felt the most centered, the most tranquil, when she was painting or drawing. Lost in her own world or in new ones she imagined. She shouldn't have made a chart; she should have drawn a circle, with the moons going from waxing to waning all the way around...
She hummed to herself a little, the way she always did when she painted.
Her hair began to glow.
A little shading here, a few light strokes in the middle of the full moon for the face that Rapunzel saw there... Circles and shadows and crosshatching... She worked extra hard on the profile of the fatter waxing crescent, where the moon would be now. She knew what it looked like as she felt her hand shape it.
Her power surged; her hair began to sparkle.
She looked around frantically for something to release her magic on. The first thing she saw was her tea, so she grabbed the red clay cup and wrapped the end of a braid around it.
Just like with Pascal, sparks sprayed off her hair and over the object.
When they faded they revealed...
... a heavy, crude clay cup.
Rapunzel started to slump in disappointment-- and then noticed something. Where the hair had touched the sides, the cup was now shiny black, like onyx or obsidian.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She waved desperately, putting her hand out the window, but wasn't sure anyone would be able to see it.
"What can I do? What can I do to show them that I'm alive?" she wailed.
Pascal just looked at her.
"Oh, right," she said. "Not thinking at all. Thanks, buddy."
She gathered up as much of her hair as she could and flung it through the window. Hard.
Like a thousand baby spiders parachuting into the sky, it glittered and sparkled-- completely unmagically, just because of the sunlight-- before falling down to hang along the wall of the tower, rippling in the wind.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Rapunzel woke up to the dazzling, sparkling, gently chiming display with more cheer than anyone really should who had spent the last six thousand and approximately nine hundred days in a lonely tower.
"This birthday is going to be great. I just know it!"
She only really knew about birthdays because she had read about them in one of the thirty-seven books she owned: Book #3: Stories from Rome and Other Great Empires. Marc Antony apparently had splendid birthdays, and Cleopatra gave him the most cunning gifts. Anyway, they seemed like a marvelous idea, and she had adopted this time of year as her own.
Had there been anyone around, they would have been amazed at the hermit's beauty. For one thing, her cheeks were surprisingly rosy for a girl who had been indoors her whole life.
(This was because on sunny Wednesday and Saturday afternoons she carefully followed the window-shaped spot of sun around her room, lying down and soaking in the warm rays.)
Her eyes were large and green because of parents she had never known.
Her lips were usually set in an expectant smile because she was Rapunzel; good-natured, lighthearted, with a quick mind that constantly refused to be crushed by her circumstances.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Moths, large and white and fluttering in a manner just a little too bat-like, came out of hiding to revel in this unexpected dismissal of day. So too did fireflies: Rapunzel squealed in delight when, like tiny candles, they twinkled in slow, unhurried loops around grass.
"Is this your mother's magic?" she shrieked, clawing at Gina's arm. " ARE THOSE FAIRIES ?"
"No, those are lightning bugs, Princess," Flynn said with a sigh. "In-sects. Whose butts glow."
"Right. I'm an idiot," Rapunzel said, trying to get one to land on her. "Because in real life, fairies aren't real but witches are."
"Touché," he said good-naturedly, with a bow.
Rapunzel felt her chest flutter.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“The house was squashed like a mushroom by a thatched roof that hung far out over the walls. A pair of windows sparkled on either side of a rounded, heavy wooden door. There was nothing particularly creepy or witch-ish about it at all, except for maybe some leeks that grew on the roof around the higgledy-piggledy chimney (out of which wafted a lovely, homey-smelling smoke).
Next to the cottage was a small fenced-in kitchen garden, and even in the low light Rapunzel could see it wasn't given over just to herbs and vegetables. Tall rockets of flowers and pretty, feathery foliage shot colorfully out of the corners.
There was even a neat flagstone path that led up to the front door.
"Witch?" Flynn asked, skeptical. "Or, like... crunchy earth mother type who drinks herbal teas and pretends the goddess speaks to her?”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She managed to summon her powers twice more by gazing at her mandala, and was tickled with the results: she turned her bright red coral bracelet glittering black, and a dish of pale yellow dye a bluish black. Of course she had no idea if the color was set by the phase of the moon or if it was simply the way she thought about the moon, set in a blue-black sky. But imagine if she could summon any color! She would never have to worry about getting the right paints again.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“The truth about you is all tangled, like your braids, Rapunzel. Bound up unnaturally. It's time to let it all down, to let it out, let it go. We must free you from the chains of your past-- but first we need to free your beautiful hair.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Nothing came or went out of the tower that Gothel didn't bring herself-- or that Rapunzel did not create out of the things she had brought. And usually the things she created took days or weeks and were obvious in their coming into existence. Gothel always complained about the sawdust, the paint flecks, the experimental cheese curds...”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She sprang out of bed, the ornaments in her hair tinkling and jingling, making tiny versions of the noises of the chimes above her.
And that was Rapunzel's most striking beauty: her hair.
Bound in plaits and whorls and buns and knots and twists as tightly as she could manage. Some of the braids were so long they hung in loops that she put her arms through; they hung at her sides like giant sleeves or tippets from an ancient dress.
Decorating all of this were dozens of charms-- also silver, like her hair, but some with exotic stones like lapis and turquoise. Bells, tiny moons, hands, suns, six-pointed stars, eyes, and anything else Mother Gothel could lay her hands on at her daughter's request.
By these amulets Rapunzel definitely tried to control her hair, bind her hair, disempower her hair, and unenchant her magic hair.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“She opened the satchel.
And honestly, fate couldn't have provided a better prize at the end of a scavenger hunt.
She pulled out a beautiful, sparkling crown.
Her large green eyes grew even larger. Despite the hour and lack of sunlight, its jewels still managed to shimmer and twinkle in a magical, expensive way. Rapunzel might not have had much experience with royal gems or any kind of precious stone, but it was very clear that these were those. The thing was straight out of a fairy tale, what a princess would be wearing when she was turned back from a swan. The giant diamonds were even shaped like swans' eggs. Under each was a round pink ruby, and threading between them was a strand of perfectly round pearls.
She turned it over in her hands, tracing the tiny, intricately wound gold wire that held it all together.
And there, in a small flat patch of smooth metal, was the artist's mark-- and a multi-rayed sun symbol.
The same one on her bracelet clasp.
The same one that she constantly painted and dreamed of. The one that meant life and happiness and energy in the personal vocabulary of Rapunzel's soul.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Happy birthday, darling."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out something so surprising Rapunzel's jaw actually dropped. It was a bright red bracelet, one of the most cheerful things she had ever seen. It didn't match any of her clothes or other accessories, and that was wonderful. It looked like fire, and the tongue of a cat in one of her books (or maybe it was a dog), and a really good sunset in autumn; happiness in a color.
There was even a cheery, many-rayed sun on the clasp. It was one of Rapunzel's favorite symbols, one she painted again and again everywhere in the tower. In her favorite color, too!”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Her hair glowed.
It shimmered and shone and pulsed, the full length of it flowing behind Rapunzel and lighting up the undersides of the trees and throwing soft illumination on all the paler leaves and mushrooms, gleaming for a moment where it hit a drop of dew or sap. The moths who had fled returned, like a fluttering train of silken flowers on a long, magical wedding veil, following the mesmerizing river of silver light.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“The past is over, child. Don’t dwell overmuch on its echoes,” the old woman said gently. “You will find no rest that way.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Then she dove into the morning cleaning.
There weren't many rooms in the tower, which made it easy, but she liked to be thorough. Sweep, mop, polish. The garderobe and her mirror got sparkly from scrubbing with a bit of vinegar (a trick she learned from Book #14: Useful Recipes for Master Servants). She transferred a day dress that was soaking in a soapy bucket to a clean water bucket, scrubbing out the bit of lingonberry juice stain from breakfast on Monday.
7:00: Personal ablutions. She washed her face and nails and applied cream to her cuticles and everywhere on her face but the T-zone, which was, despite her fairy-tale beauty, just a tad prone to breaking out.
8:00: Reading. She (re)read Book #26, Sidereus Nuncius by Galileo. More a pamphlet than a book, but it counted.
8:30: Art! Lacking a proper canvas (or piece of wall space) she chose to spend her painting time decorating the mop handle. It might not be dry enough to actually use the next day, but that was all right. Birthday weeks meant the occasional break from routine-- that was part of the fun!”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“We have Gina here dress up as Rapunzel...."
"Never going to happen," Gina said immediately.
"Come on, it's just for a few hours. You'll be the bait."
"Nope. But you have a slender waist-- maybe with the corset..."
"In your dreams."
"Oh, believe me, my dreams have nothing to do with you in a corset. My nightmares, on the other hand..."
"There's a reason I never wanted more than one kid," the Goodwife muttered.
Dodger let out an angry bleat from the window.
"Human kid," she added apologetically.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Then she got to work.
Thinking a bit of organization would help, Rapunzel took out the wanted poster of Flynn and made a chart on the back, dividing the rectangle into twenty-eight days. She wrote the moon phases neatly on each. On Day One, New Moon, she wrote Murderhair. Now it was Day Six; Waxing Crescent. Under this she wrote Transformative-- Lizard to Dragon. Day 8 would be Waxing Half Moon-- that would be exciting, right? Maybe that would mean a really big change in her powers. For Day 15, Full Moon, she wrote Healing?
She looked at her neat little chart and felt very pleased with herself.
Projects.
They were the best.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“If it's any consolation, I used my fantastic powers to turn things different colors today," she said with a smile. "Well, one color. Black."
"Very goth. And hey, more than I could do." He looked down at her trailing silver hair. "This is a much better look for you, by the way. Neoromantic. And... not actually deadly, I take it?"
"It's harmless," she said with a smile. "At least until the new moon. And even then, I have to be actually focusing and directing it to cause harm. I still have a lot to learn, but I feel... comfortable with it now. No more tying it up!"
Flynn smiled and for a moment looked like he was going to reach for her hair, now that it wasn't dangerous. His hand rose and floated in the air halfway between him and her... and then he quickly used it to slick his own hair back out of his face.
"Yeah. My hair can do things, too. But it's kind of dramatic and you have to ask nicely, sometimes with a little gel.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“The moon repeated her phases on the exact same solar calendar day once every nineteen years.
And she had just turned nineteen! So nineteen years ago, at this time, the moon would have been new.
She would have been just born, and her magic would have been deadly. So that explained the nurse.
But the other times?
She couldn't remember. All she could clearly think of was that once when she was very, very upset about killing a game hen- more than usual- she had gone to weep and look out the window for hours. The sky was as black as her mind and spirit felt, and the usually comforting stars were pinprick harsh, untwinkling. Each was a stab into her heart. There was no moon.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Gothel had told her that cutting her hair would kill her. The Goodwife said that was nonsense; it would only affect her powers, if anything at all. And come to think of it, Rapunzel did lose the occasional hair when it caught on something, or when she was combing it out. The dead hairs turned a dull brown, and it used to panic her when she was little. Did it take a day off her life? A month? A year?
She thoughtfully wrapped a lock of hair around her fingers. Biting her lip, she brought the shears up....
"Rapunzel? What are you doing? No!"
Flynn had quietly come in (and had paused at the door, preparing to say something theatrical) but immediately dropped all playing. He ran over and grabbed her hands, holding them away from her.
"What... oh," Rapunzel said, confused and taking a moment to figure out what he was doing. "You thought I was going to hurt myself. You didn't hear what the Goodwife said? Cutting my hair won't kill me."
"Oh. No, I did not hear that," Flynn said, collapsing against the edge of the workbench. But he didn't let go of her right hand. "Maybe when the group learns something important like that, you could let me in on it? You know, keep me in the loop?"
"Sorry," she said, a little chagrined. "I guess this looked really bad, didn't it?"
"You have no idea, Rapunzel, I... I think I died a little when I saw that."
He opened his mouth, trying to say something else.
Was he going to go into full funny Flynn Rider mode? Or was he actually going to say something serious?
Rapunzel could hardly breathe, waiting to see.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't like the night before, when there was a pause and a feeling of expectation. He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. With desperation, maybe as if she really had almost died.
Rapunzel shivered-- and for the slightest moment panicked that it was her magic activating. But it wasn't...
When he stopped, she reached up and touched his lips gently. She didn't want the moment to end.
"I don't want to lose you," he whispered. "But if I have to... I'd rather it be to your happy ending than to..."
"Brigands and mercenaries, or a hair-related death, I know. You do care, Flynn Rider!”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Boys and girls come out to play...'"
"'The moon doth shine as bright as day!'" Rapunzel finished.
She thought of the bright, cold winter full moon that cast a light so strong that windows in her tower lit up like magic, and instead of sunbeams, blue moonbeams traced the floor. She would run to the tower window....
Leave your supper and leave your sleep...
... and the whole world would be white and blue, as bright as daytime, but with a glowing, magical scrim. Rapunzel had felt like she could dive into it, fly over the whole world in its strange state.
And join your playfellows in the street.
Her hair began to glow.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“After Gina left, the princess walked the rose garden by herself, feeling melancholy and moody. She wondered about the ends of things, and if happily ever afters ever lasted.
That's how Flynn found her. Sensing her mood, he took her by the hand and pulled her over to the little bench by the apple trees.
"What are we doing?" Rapunzel asked curiously.
"I think you need a break from princessing," Flynn said. "Besides, it's after eight. Wayyyyy past time for reading."
He held up a book whose cover he had replaced with one he made; it said Book #38.
Rapunzel, overwhelmed by how much he understood and loved her, reached up and kissed him fully on the lips.
Reading would have to wait until later.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Were all the stars out there maidens with strange hair?”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Who cares what you should do? Life is short. People are cruel. Have fun while the sun shines and let everyone else sort themselves out.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine