You've all heard of me. That's the sad thing. I really shouldn't be famous. I haven't done anything of importance. I'm just a girl who got wrapped up in the story of her hair. Really? My hair? Honestly, the Grimm brothers could have found someone much more interesting. And they did. Cinderella was always a better story. And Little Red Riding Hood was much more adventurous than I. But I still got a story. And though the Brothers Grimm told it very well, I'm here to tell you what happened, in all truths. This is the story of my hair.

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"Rapunzel!" Her voice woke me and I raised my head from the cold, stone floor. I was having a surprisingly good sleep under the circumstances. In case you don't know, if you haven't heard my story, I was locked in a tower against my will, my hair was preposterously long, a witch would climb up my hair to get into the tower (ever heard of a door, you old hag?), and I had no control over my life. "Damnit, Rapunzel, let down your hair so that I may climb the golden stair." What a stupid rhyme. And I hated hearing it every single time she needed to get in. Why did she even need to get in? She lived in a nice house, and I had to live in this crappy tower. This wasn't my choice, living here. It was all because of my stupid parents making stupid decisions…

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My mother wanted a child, and it seemed likely that it was not possible. She and my father had tried multiple times, and each time it ended with the same result: no baby. Their house was quaint; a two room cottage in a sizable yard, with a pleasant garden which my mother enjoyed tending to. My mother started having cravings, a sign of the pregnancy which would soon bear me, and she noticed some rapunzel plant growing in the yard of the enchantress, Dame Gothel, who lived next door. My father, being the kind man he was, stole from the witch each night, and brought the rapunzel home to my mother for her to eat. Eventually, the witch caught him. As punishment, Gothel ordered him to surrender his first born child. My poor father did not yet realize that my mother was pregnant, and with that he agreed hastily.

A few months later I was born and given away to Dame Gothel. My mother wept and my father was somber, they had tried so long for a child, only to have her taken away immediately. Sometimes I feel pity for them, but then I realize that they have most likely had other children, and have moved on from this event.

Before I turned twelve, I lived a good life in Dame Gothel's house. She grew my hair long, telling me that it was far too beautiful to cut off. She fed me well and took care of me, and I thought that I was in good hands. But on my twelfth birthday, she locked me in this tower. One window, one room, nothing else. What a waste, right? It is too tall for me to jump out of, and too small for another person to live there. But every day the witch comes and climbs up my hair to bring me food. She could just let me starve; it would be better than living in that tower. I still have no idea what made her want to lock me in a tower, why she wanted me in the first place. She's a freaking psychopath.