The castle loomed, as castles are wont to do. Its towers scraped the bottom of the sky. Within, princesses slept on silken pillows, piles of lumpy mattresses, beds of nettles. A few were awake, wishing for the Princes Charming to gallop across the drawbridge below.

Rapunzel grew tired of waiting.

Tying the end of her braid to the hook on the wall, she rappelled her way to freedom. When her feet touched solid ground she severed her locks at the nape of her neck with a sharp-edged stone.

The king’s soldiers didn’t stop her; she was the witch’s ward (or one of them), and they’d never liked witches. Those hags turned unlucky men into frogs or stone or geese on a whim. Who could blame a girl for wanting to get out?

Instead they gave her ale and apples, a warm cloak, and a magic flute confiscated from a giant. The shoemaker brought her a pair of elf-made boots for the road. The East Wind ruffled her boy-short hair and whispered a name in her ear.

Rapunzel bade all them farewell and set off to find her fortune.