Rumpelstiltskin Rebranded As Outre Designer Couture

the daughter of a miller abducted, exiled, held locked as prisoner didst bawl achingly, effusively, indubitably murmured plaintively quite riotously didst call out for help, when stalked with facing john deere reaper with nary a blues clue how to drawl, a gentle southern twang the heap of straw, she needed to transform into gold before the fall low wing break of dawn, a demand made from king of Gaul, who decreed death to Mister McGrain attested boasted claimed his daughter adept in the art of alchemy (taught from a spin stir, the secret to whip – coolie -gold from thin air) rake a haul which lit up like King Midas eyes, demanded said girl of thee papa must install; the golden flaxen edenic dame abhorred, decried, groaned jowl near dropping to the floor, which sends this teller of tall tales returns me back into infinitely jesting feedback loop ------------------------------------------------------------------------- at opening sentence of this poetic riff, where poor lass shuttered within dank, dark cell staring distraught at floor to ceiling mass of dry stalks counting down hours, minutes, seconds when she will pass into maws of death, when within blink oven aye, a munchkin – sass soon before tears of condemned girl yet to dry – appeared reedy like grass ------------------------------------------------------------------------- who vouchsafed, he could enrich trumpeting donned king lear and within a flash, where once piled fetid, dried, brittle appeared blinding glare ring mouth watering most precious metal – inducing fair maiden to grin ear to ear, and eagerly anticipated his majesty, who (spoiler alert) made her his dear lee beloved queen, whence royal family opened shop for rich – no doubt, that would, which clothing boutique for wealthy logically clear of course incorporating pomp and circumstance plus knights templars blare ring thee positive turn of fate, whence palace exuded festive air. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- fast forward to at least a year post golden fleeced couture when with a “poof”, the trawling impish hunchback glowered thence slammed wrought iron drawbridge door when divine mother begat plethora of progeny bade bon jure upon correctly guessing the name of mite size roar ring elfin grot, who out of rage tore himself in half – as if within him exploded a civil war.