Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY ext 357
The young huntsman starred in awe, struck by the girl’s beauty and her lovely, painfilled song. He didn’t speak for fear she would stop singing. He only stood in the bushes and listened. As he rested in her voice, hunched-over women hobbled up to the tower and called, “Kayla, Kayla. Let down your hair to me.”
A waterfall of luscious, strawberry blonde hair rained down the side of the tower, and up the older woman climbed with a skill that comes with repetition. The huntsman thought he would come back the next week, earlier in the day, and try this very thing for a chance to meet the stunning beauty locked up in the tower.