So I did what any mother in her right mind would have done – I had my husband built us a tower, as high as he could get it. And on the eve of my daughter’s sixteenth birthday, we put her in it.

Of course, Sioni was none too happy about that; she got even more upset when she found out her tower had no door. But we tried to make it up to her by buying her a canary, a harp, and several books to keep her company during her exile. I took care to make sure there was nothing sharp in her tower – no scissors, knife, or anything that could be used to cut her hair and thus bring harm to her.

As my husband and I were walking back into the house, our steps were stilled by our daughter’s cry.

“I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?” Her eyes were huge with grief, the tears liquid diamonds that trembled on her lashes.

My husband wiped his hands of the affair, literally. “This was your idea, milady wife. You talk with her.”

I looked up at Sioni and steeled my nerves. “This is for your own good, daughter.”