The air pulsated with the sound of birds and insects. The verdant grass waved in the heat. The sky tempted like a cool, clear drink of water. All the world was alight, as it had been on the day that Rapunzel had last glimpsed her tower.

Except that one spot. That was cloaked in shadow.

It was the place where Rapunzel's mother - not the woman she now called "Mom," but the woman who had fed, clothed, and loved her all her life - had crumbled to dust.

Eugene insisted that Mother Gothel hadn't really loved Rapunzel. A happy captive was a sure captive, he said. And maybe he was right, or at least partly right.

Still, Rapunzel couldn't shake the thought that in her own way, her mother really had loved her. And even if she only pretended she did, didn't it amount to the same thing? But no, Rapunzel was certain that her mother had loved her - because she acted like she did even when no facade was necessary. Rapunzel had read lots of stories containing wicked stepmothers, but until the end, when Mother Gothel was confronted with the possibility of Rapunzel leaving her, she was never wicked. Hadn't she left the day that Rapunzel escaped from her tower because Rapunzel had requested a birthday gift that required a three days' journey to procure? She didn't have to. She could've purchased a gift for Rapunzel in town; she didn't have to make the effort to give her what she wanted.

True, her mother had forbid her from traveling to see the lights, which was what she'd really wanted, but that was only because she feared losing her.

Or was it because she feared losing the magic hair, as everyone else believed?

Maybe a little of both.

Rapunzel knelt where her mother's cloak had fallen, her hand shaking as she ran it over the dark patch of ground. On her arm was a basket, from which she withdrew a hoe, a packet of seeds, and a watering can. She began to dig, humming to herself and endeavoring not to remember her mother as the cruel jailer who'd bound and gagged her before stabbing her love, or as the pitiful old woman who'd wailed in misery at her own reflection. Instead she remembered her as the youthful, beautiful woman who read and sang to her as she brushed her hair in front of the fire; who teased her about her mumbling and her silly teenage insecurities; and who made squash and hazelnut soup once a week, at least, merely because it was Rapunzel's favorite.

When the hole was dug and the seeds had been planted and watered - with both the watering can and Rapunzel's eyes - Rapunzel stood and stepped back to survey her work.

She hoped her mother would like the flowers, the special flowers that needed little light to grow.

A few minutes of gardening was the least Rapunzel could do, to honor someone who'd loved her so much, someone whom she'd loved and still loved so much, even if, in the end, that someone had loved herself more.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Whether you liked or disliked my take on the relationship between Rapunzel and Mother Gothel, reviews are, as always, welcome and appreciated. So let me know what you think!

Lots of love,

AllIWannaDo