The Tower’s Secret now available on Amazon.
In today’s world, Rapunzel isn’t the one trapped , she’s the predator. She moves through the city like silk through fingers, her long, honey-gold braid swaying down her back as both lure and signature. The “witches” she hunts aren’t old crones but people who build walls around themselves , guarded, controlling, and convinced they’re untouchable. She sees through them instantly, sensing the tension in their shoulders, the sharp edges in their eyes, and the way their words are armor.
She calls them “witches” because they weave illusions. They think they hold power over others, but in truth, they’ve locked themselves in their own towers. Rapunzel’s pleasure is in dismantling those walls, brick by brick, knot by knot.
Her lair is hidden in plain sight , a renovated penthouse on the top floor of an old clocktower in the industrial district. The lift is antique, the hallways dim, and the heavy wooden door is carved with spiraling patterns that echo the twists of rope she uses. Inside, it’s warm light and shadowed corners, shelves of natural-fiber coils in every thickness and color, a padded floor for play, and an open view of the city lights through arched windows.
When she chooses a witch, she doesn’t rush. She lingers in their spaces , coffee shops, gallery openings, underground clubs , always watching, learning their movements, their tells. She lets them feel her attention before she approaches, planting that first seed of curiosity. And when she finally invites them to the tower, it’s never with a demand, but with a quiet challenge: “Do you want to know what freedom feels like?”
The first night is always about rope. Not to restrain, but to rewrite their understanding of it. She binds in ways that make them breathe deeper, stand taller, and feel the weight of their own bodies in a way they never have before. Sometimes it’s floor work with intricate harnesses that emphasize breath and posture, other times it’s suspensions that make them feel weightless.
As days turn to weeks, she peels away their illusions , sensory deprivation to sharpen their trust, primal play to unleash instincts they’ve buried, praise and control to replace the brittle power they once clung to. They enter the tower as “witches” who thought they were free; they leave with rope marks and eyes wide open, finally understanding that true freedom isn’t escape , it’s surrender to the right hands.
And Rapunzel? She never cuts her hair. She leaves that golden braid long, because it isn’t just a part of her. It’s her calling card, her trophy, her tether , the thread that draws her witches in and never quite lets them go.
I thought I had prepared for this moment—planned every word, every step, every breath—but when I saw you standing there, everything unraveled. The silence stretched—too heavy, too loud—until my only choice was to close the distance. My heart pounded—a wild, unsteady rhythm—while my hands ached to reach for you, to claim what I’d been denying all along.