“Let down your hair, let down your hair!” He called from beneath me. I leaned out the window and threw a crust of bread at him. I hoped he had slow reflexes, dullard that he seemed to be. “Please, my love, let down your hair!”

“What so you can yank on it again?” I screeched down at him. Even my mother, so anxious to see me in this tower she’d so ingeniously built (and forgotten to add a door in, I might add), had given up on climbing my hair and just bought a ladder. Why was this man so thick?

“Please, my princess-” I cut him off before he swooned and hit himself on a rock, though that would be a welcome reprieve from his daily serenades.

“I’m not a princess, you idiot!” I hoped my sharpness would scare him away, but alas, it didn’t.

“Then why are you in a tower?” He squinted up at me in a most unbecoming manner.

“Because my mother put me here.” I responded, leaning out the window and shrugging. I didn’t mind my tower. I had a harp and a bird, plenty of books.

He turned and left. I began to read.