Hi everyone! ;) Aww, I can't thank y'all enough for your amazing compliments. You make me sound like a better writer than I really am.

Flynn: Hey wait a minute. Why do I always suffer in everyone's stories?

Me: Uh... *sweatdrop*

Flynn: I already died once. Isn't that enough? *pouts* Apparently, no.

Me: Actually...

Flynn: I feel so unloved! ;* (smolder)

Me: O.o

Flynn: I've had enough. I'll be in trailer if you need me.

Me: Uh, yeah. Sure. Great...

We *do* love to torture Flynn, don't we? *ponders*

Ohmigosh. I was hanging out downtown the other day AND I SAW A DUDE WHO LOOKED ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE FLYNN RIDER! EXCEPT HE HAD BROWNISH-BLONDE HAIR, BUT STILL! I actually considered going up and asking him "How's Rapunzel", but then I thought it would be too weird. XD

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

O*O*O

It's funny how the ones we love most can also take our hearts and squeeze them till they're bruised. This is exactly how I felt when I saw Eugene lying motionless on the floor, pale and still and barely breathing. I don't remember much after my parents, along with at least fifteen royal guards, burst into the room. There are only bits and pieces I recall – the guards looking uncertainly at Eugene, my father shouting for the Royal Physician, my mother's arm pulling me close.

Nothing comforted me.

The hours afterward are also just a blur – a couple of guards lifting Eugene up, commenting under their breaths that he barely weighed anything – my mother letting me hide my face in her shoulder – my father holding me tight – my silent tears flowing.

But even three years afterward I still remember every moment after the Royal Physician came out of Eugene's room after diagnosing him…

O*O*O

"Will he be okay? What does he have? What's happening to him? Please, tell me he'll be okay!" I clung to my mother's arm as I pleaded with the Royal Physician outside Eugene's room.

Dr. Mandrake took my hand and patted it sympathetically. "Princess…" He trailed off.

I pulled my hand out of his grasp. "Princess what?" I hated sounding so tart, but I couldn't help it. Wouldn't anyone be harsh if the love of their life had just dropped unconscious out of nowhere? Besides, I had a right to know what was wrong with Eugene. The doctors had been trying to diagnose him for over thirty minutes, and during that time, I'd heard murmuring coming from behind the locked doors. The whispers were low, but the tone had been dead serious. Something wasn't right.

Dr. Mandrake looked at my parents. "She might need to sit down for this one."

"I'm right here, you know." I could feel myself trembling.

Mother pushed gently on my arm. "Sit, baby," she whispered in my ear. "Everything's going to be okay."

I allowed myself to drop stiffly into chair. My parents sat next to me, my mother still holding my hand. She gave it a small squeeze, and I managed a weak little smile. Dr. Mandrake sat facing us.

"Princess," he began in a gentle, almost fatherly tone, "have you ever heard of the plague?"

Well, of course I had. "Gothel… she warned me about it," I recalled. "She said I'd be dead within a week if it found me."

Beside me, my mother flinched and the mention of Gothel's name and squeezed my hand harder.

The doctor nodded at me, his spectacles slipping down his nose. "Have you ever heard tell of a certain type of plague called the Dark Plague?"

I racked my memory. "No. At least, I don't think so." I looked up at him. "Please tell me about it."

Dr. Mandrake heaved a great sigh, and when he spoke he looked not at me but at the floor. "It came from the north, riding the backs of heavy winds. The first victim was a young boy from the kingdom of Neustria – maybe he was sixteen or seventeen. Since then, many others have fallen sick with what we call the Dark Plague."

I bit my lip, trying to recall lessons from my geography class. "Neustria? Isn't that up on the other end of the shoreline?"

"As far up the coast as you can get, yes," the doctor confirmed, spreading his hands wide. Clumps of his dark hair fell into his eyes, painfully reminding me of Eugene and his antics.

"Please go on."

"From what we can gather, the Dark Plague has traveled over the years from kingdom to kingdom – but only when it can catch winds heavy enough to make the trip."

"I don't recall any particularly strong winds during the past few months," my father interrupted with a frown.

Dr. Mandrake bowed his head apologetically. "My mistake, your Majesty," he relented. "It doesn't always have to be spread by wind. If a kingdom nearby has been consumed by Dark Plague, then it would be easy for the illness to hop smaller breezes and reach Corona." He bowed again and resumed speaking to me. "Over the past few months we've been getting more and more deaths because of the Dark Plague," he continued. "Some thirty-three people have already died in the past three months."

I was thunderstruck. "Thirty-three!" I whipped around to face my parents, who looked at each other with matching uh-oh faces. "You knew, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?"

My father touched my shoulder. "Rapunzel… we thought you might not be able to handle it."

"But… all those people… I have a right to know. They're my very own subjects!" I hated using the term "subjects", but in this case I had no better word to describe my rights over them.

"We're sorry, Flower," my mother relented. "I promise you that we'll always let you know about… well, everything from now on."

"Thank goodness for that." I could feel myself getting tart again, but this time it was tinged with unspeakable sadness for all those who had died, those who were mourning, and those who were still suffering… how could they have tried to hide something like that from me?

Dr. Mandrake cleared his throat. "Your Majesties…?" I'd forgotten about him.

"Carry on," my father said.

The doctor cleaned his spectacles on the lapel of his dark red suit. "Now where was I? Ah, yes – thirty-three people in Corona have already expired from the Dark Plague. It's fairly difficult most of the time to diagnose the Dark Plague early on, since it doesn't seem too serious to begin with. "

"What about symptoms?" My voice came out as an unsteady whisper.

"Right. Symptoms." He glanced at my parents.

"Go on," my mother said.

Dr. Mandrake looked uncertain, but he took my hand once more. This time I didn't pull away. "The earliest symptoms are oddly pale complexion and a cough."

I suddenly felt very dizzy. "Paleness and a cough," I repeated. My hands trembled.

"There is a brief span of six to ten days when the victim appears normal…"

I grabbed my mother's hand and clutched it.

"And then the disease will strike full force. First there comes at least three days of unconsciousness, followed by severe cough, extremely delicate skin, and temporary blindness. Usually the victim… ah, expires… within a week. Those who survive are few, and even they will remain blind for the rest of their lives." He patted my hand sympathetically.

"What are you trying to say?" I demanded, my voice coming out louder than I intended it to. I shouldn't have asked; I already knew where this was heading. I just didn't want to accept it…

"Princess…" the doctor said just as my mother pleaded, "Rapunzel…"

"What?" I said sharply, pulling my hand out of Dr. Mandrake's grasp.

He stood abruptly and looked away from me. "Your Highness, Eugene Fitzherbert has been diagnosed with Dark Plague. We'll do all we can for him, but there's no guarantee that he'll make it. I'm sorr–"

"NO!"

My parents, Dr. Mandrake, and several other doctors and servants who happened to be milling about nearby jumped. I stood so suddenly that my chair fell over backward with a crash, and my crown slipped off my head and clattered to the floor at my feet. For one long moment I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My mind kept bleating, Eugene… Eugene… Eugene…

I turned and raced from the room.

No one tried to stop me.

O*O*O

Outside, it was pouring buckets. Rain pounded down from above like a torrent of tears and battered the palace gardens until the flowers were limp and the trees sagged with water. Puddles the size of rafts appeared and turned one part of the gardens into a miniature swamp. The moment I burst outside, I was drenched. My hair hung in scraggly ringlets, plastered to my forehead and face. The train of my sky-blue dress turned an unattractive shade of muddy brown as I plowed through puddles and ran into slushy grass, searching for a place where I could be alone.

Fortunately, I did not have to look far. Even the animals were absent from the gardens because of the unforgiving downpour. Under a large oak tree I took shelter, throwing myself down at the base of the tree trunk and crying my eyes out. Tears mingled with raindrops as they streaked down my face. I must have looked like some street-walker with my bedraggled dress, bare, muddy feet, and red-rimmed eyes.

I don't know how long I lay outside in the storm. To be honest, I barely noticed that my wet skirts grew heavier by the minute and that tangled in my hair were small twigs and leaves. All I could thing was, Eugene... don't leave me again...

I turned my tear-streaked face to the sky. "Why?" I cried. My voice broke as I spoke, this time in a whisper. "Why?"

There was no response, just the pain of water droplets hitting my eyes.

O*O*O

After a while my tears dried up, and I stood silently under the branches of the oak. Even the thick foliage offered little protection from the heresy of rain, and I shivered in my wet dress, wrapping my arms around myself in attempt to stay warm. The fabric stuck to my arms and legs as a fierce wind ripped through the gardens, and I was faintly aware that if I stayed outside for too long, I would catch a cold.

So what?

Eugene was sick, and nothing else mattered.

My toes became numb from the icy puddle I happened to be standing in.

Eugene had given up so much for me. He'd risked his life so many times for me... in the cave, where I'd been so sure we'd drown... when he gave me a tour of a kingdom full of guards who wanted him dead... in the tower, he died so I could be free. He loved me that much.

When had I ever done anything for him?

I sank to the grass and buried my face in my arms. I'd never shown him how much I loved him back. Telling someone you love them isn't the same as showing them. I shivered again, and this time it wasn't from the clammy chill of my clothes. Because...

What if I never got a chance to show him? What if he wouldn't make it... again?

My breath caught in my throat as I remembered the utter lifelessness of Eugene's limp form as he lay dying in my arms that day in the tower. It had been scary, pretty much, to see him so still and pale after seeing him running through open fields, climbing trees, riding horses, dancing with me.

What if we both had to go through that again?

A puddle had formed at my feet, and I gazed absently into the water, rippling from raindrops. My reflection showed a girl with tearstained cheeks and red eyes, and cropped brown hair that stuck up in some places and was plastered down in others. I didn't look anything like me. The girl who gazed intently back was so utterly helpless, captured in this puddle that, while small, was still enough to keep her in place.

I sighed shakily and stood, dripping water and looking like I'd come straight out of The Princess and the Pea. If I hadn't been so upset, I might have laughed at the thought, but at that moment I was freezing from my toes up to the tips of my ears. In desperate need of warmth and consolation, I reluctantly decided it was time to head back inside. The problem was, I didn't feel like facing anybody, least of all my parents. They wouldn't be able to offer much more than a few hugs and their sympathy, along with awkward phrases like, "He'll be better, you'll see," and "He's a strong boy, he'll pull through". Not that I didn't want comfort, but I wanted to know that Eugene would for sure be all right. I needed certainty. I'd just have to meet up with my parents later, even though it made me worried to think how frantic my parents must be, searching for me everywhere.

So I slipped in through the servants' quarters, a spacious room filled with cots in neat little rows. Thankfully, nobody was present, as I'd hoped. Most of the servants would be searching for me. Feeling very much like Flynn Rider, I padded up one of our smaller, lesser known staircases to the upper floors, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind. It was a miracle I managed to get into my own room unseen and unnoticed.

I locked the door as quietly as I could and prayed my parents wouldn't visit anytime soon. Behind me, I heard a small squeak and a few trills, and I scooped my beloved pet chameleon, Pascal, into my hands and hugged him close. "Hi, Pascal," I said softly and was annoyed to hear my voice tremble. "Find any new lizard friends today?"

Pascal looked at me with his okay-what's-the-problem-this-time-girl look and waited for an explanation. One of the things I love about Pascal is that he can sense others' emotions, and that he is willing to listen when you talk to him. Not that he can talk back and tell you he doesn't want to listen, but still. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling, but my eyes welled up anyway. I forced the tears away.

"Eu-Eug-gene is s-sick," I managed, speaking through the lump in my throat. "Very sick. T-the doctor t-told me that he h-has D-dark Plague, and that he could die!" I burst out, struggling to keep my eyes from overflowing. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep a few tears from leaking out. Oh, I hated being seen like this in front of anyone, even Pascal.

Pascal looked at me in disbelief at first, and then his scales turned a gray-blue color – the color of sadness. He put a teensy paw on my thumb by means of reassurance. I smiled, but it wobbled.

"Thanks, Pascal," I sniffled. "I guess we're both in this together, huh?"

He purred and resumed his natural green color, and I let him perch on my shoulder. The comforting warmth of his body calmed me down somewhat, and I sat down on my bed, swinging my legs and gazing up at the kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the spacious walls, forming the murals I had been painting since the day I took up residence in the castle.

Most of my murals were of flowers, open fields, waterfalls, shorelines, birds, forests, squirrels, marketplaces, palaces, so on and so forth. Across the dome of my ceiling I'd painted the sky; one half with clouds and sunshine, the other half with a gibbous moon and a scattering of stars. Smack in the middle of those two skies, I'd painted a girl, with her left side awash in sunlight and her right softly glowing alongside the moon. From right side of her head spilled a waterfall of golden hair, pooling at her feet and winding like a river among the stars, but her hair on her left side was brown, short, shorn; a new beginning, but also something lost.

Out of habit, loneliness, and maybe even wistfulness, I reached behind my head and ran my fingers lightly down the cropped brown pixie cut that had replaced my river of sunshine. Not that I wasn't fond of my new hairdo – how could I not love it? It was such a relief after having to carry around a hundred-million pound burden on my head. I could run without worrying about getting entangled in bushes or tree branches. I could twirl without getting wrapped up in hair and falling with painful thuds; I could finish brushing in less than five minutes; I could go to sleep without worrying that Gothel – or someone else – would whisk me away, the human flower, the living magic of youth. Without the burden of my magic hair, I was free.

That didn't mean I didn't miss my old hair.

My long tresses had been more than just a source of eternal youth and health. To me, my hair had been a comfort, a friend, almost. It had been the only means of entertainment in my tower that never got old. I had been able to climb virtually anything with the aid of my locks. They were fun to slide down, too. I'd used my hair as a means of flight, almost, by suspending myself in midair with it. When I felt lonely, or cold, or scared, I simply had to wrap myself up in my tresses and I'd feel safe. The sunny color, the beauty of its glow when I sang, the hundreds of things I could accomplish with it...

Now was definitely a time when I could sit for hours missing my hair.

Besides...

My gaze fell to my favorite painting of all, a mural of a girl with long blonde hair and the man she loved most sitting together in a boat, gazing at each other. Lanterns, hundreds of them, hovered in the background and floated near the boat, but the couple's eyes were only fixed on each other. The girl's hair was almost real, looked like it would glow if you sang to it. But I was mainly interested in the handsome young man holding her hands.

Oh, Eugene...

In my mind's eye, an image flashed through my mind, depicting a forlorn girl with cropped brown hair leaning over the same man, who was now pale and lifeless. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open. A bloodstain, barely visible, turned the dark green of his vest mottled red.

I could have healed you then, and I would have been able to heal you NOW...

If you hadn't cut my hair.

A knock sounded at the door. We both jumped, and I scurried across the room to my closet and began rooting around for a dress I could change into. Strangely enough, I found one of Eugene's outfits hanging towards the back next to the ball gowns. His green vest, white button-down, trousers, and boots looked extremely out of place among the frilly lace skirts and pearl-strung petticoats.

The knock sounded again, louder this time. I yanked a pale purple nightgown over my sodden bodice and shoved my muddied gown to the back of the wardrobe. As quietly as I could, I lay down on my bed and held still, willing myself to fall asleep. The only problem was that my still-damp bodice kept rubbing against my skin in all the wrong places. If the thing didn't dry soon, I'd end up with a rash by morning. And there was, of course, that nut who kept banging on my door, refusing to leave me alone...

At last I gave in to the anonymous knocker. Sighing, I slid out of bed and padded across the room to the door. I peeked through the keyhole, but it was too small to give me much of a view. All I could see was the knocker's simple white apron with ruffles encircling the waist. Oh. A maid.

In one quick motion, I yanked open the door, took hold of the startled girl's wrist, and pulled her inside. She let loose a yelp, stumbling backwards into a wall with a thud as I shoved the door closed and locked it again. "Shhh," I cautioned, releasing her arm. "I'm sorry, but I don't want my parents to know I'm inside."

The girl regained her footing and gawked at me for a long moment before giving a soft "Oh!" She swept down in a curtsy, pulling her dark green skirts on either side and revealing worn brown slippers on her feet. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," she said softly, clearly nervous. "But every servant in the castle has orders to escort you to her Highness Queen Isabel or his Majesty King Jonathan if you are found. And I'm sorry," she added quietly, "about him. Mister Rider, ah, Fitzherbert."

I bit my lip. Did everyone know about him? "You're very kind – what did you say your name was?"

"Thistle, Majesty." In the flickering candlelight, I saw that she had two loose braids of bright orange hair, a rare sight in a kingdom such as Corona. We were a mainly brunette population. Thistle's hair glowed bronze by the light of the candle, the same color as the freckles dancing across her nose. She was petite, rosy-cheeked, and very young; fourteen or fifteen, perhaps. She spoke with a lilting accent I didn't recognize.

"Where are you from, Thistle?" I asked.

"Ireland, Majesty," she responded, nervously plucking at the lacy collar of her apron.

I pondered. "Ireland," I repeated, mainly to myself. "That's a bit far away."

Thistle wrung her hands and smiled awkwardly. I was making her nervous.

"Your Majesty, I..." she began, but I cut her off.

"My name is Rapunzel," I said as firmly as I could. "Not 'Majesty' or 'Princess'. Please, call me anything but my title."

Thistle looked puzzled, but to my everlasting gratitude she respected my command. "All right, Your... Rapunzel."

I let my in-command look drop of my face and gave her a small smile. "And... why are you here?"

"Your Maj – Rapunzel, I was sent to change the bedsheets and, well, I found you instead." It was then I noticed the pile of purple satin sheets strewn across the floor. She must have dropped them when I pulled her inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I gasped. "Here, I'll pick them up for you."

"No, no, your – Rapunzel. I can manage!" She dropped to her knees and scrambled to gather the sheets. She managed to collect a few, but I was already struggling under a bulky armload.

"These are heavy!" I giggled for what seemed like the first time that day. "How did you carry them all up here?" My Eugene worries departed for the moment.

Thistle wrestled the sheets away from me. She was surprisingly strong for her age. And no wonder; the silky cloth bundle weighed as much as a horse. "I have my ways."

I let her have the sheets and began pulling the covers off my bed. "Well, at least let me help you arrange them." Before she could respond, I grabbed one sheet and began to spread it over my bed.

Thistle gave in and helped me smooth the corners. "You are unlike any princess I've ever met," she said shyly. I noticed that her eyes were round and green, like mine, only hers were a much darker hue. "You want to do other peoples' work. You like helping out. And you go barefoot."

"You must be new," I said with a giggle. "Soon you'll get sick and tired of me and will complain to my parents about how I'm doing all your work."

Thistle let a sheet drop to the mattress in a heap. "Oh! Your Majesty – Rapunzel – your parents. I have my orders... they are frantic, you know. I'm sorry if it goes against your wishes, but I must tell them where you are –"

"No!" I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back from the door. "Please, don't," I pleaded. "I'm sorry. I just can't see them right now. It's Eugene, the only one I need to see is him, but I'm sure they won't let me see him in the infirmary, they'll think that I might catch the Dark Plague if I see him, and... and..." I wiped a few tears from my eyes and abruptly turned to face the wall. "You probably think I'm crazy," I murmured, wrapping my arms around my ribs. Oh, Eugene. I needed him more than anyone else...

"You're not crazy," Thistle said from behind me. "A mite eccentric, perhaps, but not crazy."

I smiled in the dark. Outside, the rain continued to hammer down, but the thunder and lightning had stopped. Pascal purred softly from his spot on my pillow – cute little chameleon snores.

"You say Mister Ri – Fitzherbert has Dark Plague?"

I nodded, my back still turned to her.

"Princess... Rapunzel..."

Something in her voice made me look over my shoulder at her. She seemed to glow faintly in the candlelight.

"I know someone," she began slowly, as though afraid I might cut her off. "A lady, an alchemist, who lives in the forest."

I waited, but a small inkling of hope rose inside me.

"I don't know her very well, because I'm new to Corona. Perhaps you've heard of her. Aeryn. Some call her the Witch of Corona, and that's why she's hardly ever seen out of her shack. Not many look for her either. But she's an expert in healing, and she claims to be in touch with the Spirits, so she knows more about diseases and their possible cures than most people."

"Are you saying...?"

Thistle fiddled with one of her braids. "I'm sorry, your Highness. I've said too much." Her posture suddenly became stiff; her voice was formal. Was she afraid she would be in trouble for telling me something I shouldn't have heard? "I must be on my way now." She turned to go, and for the third time I pulled her back.

"No, wait. This lady. Where does she live? Does she know a cure for Dark Plague?" I held my breath as I waited for Thistle's reply. Maybe... just maybe... there was a chance...

Thistle stared at her toes. What was she hiding?

"Tell me, Thistle," I said quietly. "I promise you, you won't be in trouble."

She looked at me and sighed softly. "You'll run off to find her if I tell you."

The inkling of hope inside me blossomed. "So she does know a cure? Where does she live?" I gripped the maid's arm.

Thistle pulled my hands off her and glanced at the door. "You'll run off for sure, and your parents will be desperate."

"Please, just tell me, Thistle," I pleaded, latching onto her arm. My heart thudded in my ears; a million thoughts swirled through my minds at once. If I could find a cure, Eugene would live. If I found a cure, I could heal the thousands who were still sick. Hope continued to bloom throughout me, like dawn after a stormy night.

Finally, Thistle sighed. "She might know a cure," she said, so softly that I barely heard. "I don't know for sure. But she might be able to help you. She lives in the deepest part of the forest, but any huntsman – or peasant – can show you the way."

I released her at last and took a step back. "Thank you," I said. My voice wobbled slightly, as did my smile. Thistle smiled back, but it was nervous. She put her hand on the doorknob, but I stopped her. "Wait." I ran to my dresser and rooted through one of the drawers. Pens, papers, paintbrushes, polished stones, seashells, pinecones, dried leaves. I opened another drawer. Candles, flowers, acorns, chess pieces, teensy porcelain figurines, Pascal's toys. Nothing that I could use as a suitable reward.

Thistle waited by the door. Her hair glowed amber.

Hmm, amber. Maybe...

I opened my jewelry box and sorted through it. I hardly ever wore jewelry; sometimes I put on a plain gold chain around my neck with a little flower charm, but that was it. To be honest, I preferred daisy chains to diamonds and leafy crowns to jade ones. I never liked earrings; they pinched my earlobes. Bracelets snagged on my sleeves and made too much of a jangling sound. Necklaces were all right, but many of my dressier ones were so heavily encrusted with jewels that it took all my strength to keep my head up. Finger rings simply got in the way. In short, I hardly touched my jewels. I did, however, know that even my simplest pearl necklace was worth a fortune to those who lived as commoners.

At the very bottom of my jewelry box, buried beneath ruby earrings and opal necklaces, was a medium-sized diamond brooch. I closed the box and handed her the brooch.

She hesitated before taking and slowly turning it in her hands. "For me, Princess?"

"Rapunzel," I corrected her. "And yes, it's for you. For telling me about..."

"Aeryn?"

"Aeryn, yeah. Thank you." I stepped forward and gave her a little hug before guiding her to the door. "Watch out for thieves."

"Thank you, your – Rapunzel. I will." She said it in a serious and formal tone, but her eyes were shining.

"You're very welcome," I told her. She smiled, and her face glowed like the moon before she closed the door behind her. I sank to the floor, my mind kicking into overdrive.

If what Thistle said was true, I could get a cure from this alchemist by tomorrow evening and return home long before Eugene... well, before the Dark Plague consumed him. A victim usually had a week before anything like that happened. The deepest part of the forest bit was a little vague, but Thistle had mentioned that a huntsman could show me the way. And I could accomplish all that in at least two days...

Oh my gosh. Could it really be that simple?

I turned the idea over in my head a few times. If I wore a disguise, nobody would be able to tell if I left the castle. I could take a few pieces of jewelry in case I needed to bribe anyone to direct me to the alchemist's shack. I would need rope, too, and maybe a pocketknife in case the huntsman refused a necklace. Food wouldn't be a problem, and neither would transportation. We had plenty of horses in the stable. As for defense, what better weapon to bring on a road trip than my frying pan?

I rocked back and forth on my heels.

It's too dangerous, a little voice in my head piped up.

Well, of course there would be a little danger. But once you've braved a pub full of thugs and a demolished dam and flash flood, it's hard to be afraid of your local forest. Besides, my frying pan and I had easily taken down the most elusive thief of all time (aka Flynn Rider). What was there to be afraid of?

REAL ruffians, REAL thugs, poison ivy, quicksand, cannibals and snakes, not to mention large bugs and men with pointy teeth...

I pushed the little voice away. It was settled, and nobody could stop me.

Hold on, Eugene.

I shook the pillow Pascal was snoozing on until he awoke with a squeak and glared at me.

"Come on, Pascal," I said, scooping him up. "We're going on a road trip."

O*O*O

WHOA. LONG CHAPTER. Eeeee!

Actually, this chapter was supposed to be – gasp – three times as long, but I had to chop it up so you guys wouldn't get overwhelmed by my writing frenzy. :D And THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all your sweetie-potato reviews. As you can imagine, all your wonderful comments have made me walk with my nose very high in the air. ;-) Not that I mind, though! :D

I seriously wish I had the time to type up my review replies, but I'm so sorry that I can't. Eep! Just know that you guys are the best!

By the way, did anyone else run around the house screaming when they found out that there's gonna be a short of Flynn and Rapunzel's wedding? I sure did, and I got about a million weird looks throughout the rest of the day. :)

Okay, enough chitchat! Tell me what you think!

Peace, love, and Pascals,

Silverbells