The old enchantress arrived at the foot of the tower, enraged to see Rapunzel’s hair already hanging down through the window.

“There’d better not be a man up there!” the witch called.

Silence.

She tugged fiercely on the golden braid and to her surprise, it began to fall into a loose coil beside her feet.  She glanced upward to see the other end of the hair tumble over the windowsill.  And what was that small object tied to it?  Dark, with a gridded texture.  It landed beside her.

It seems to be made of metal, she had time to think.