He found the three of us doing what we do every day. We comb our hair. Mine is golden, and every strand that falls to the floor rings out like a pure metal.
No one had ever heard the ring of my hair until the handsome youth came into my copper room.
I told him that neither I nor my sisters would be able to leave the stone castle and return to the upper world until our old mother, the witch, is dead.
There is only one sword that can kill her, and it is too heavy to lift. We could give him the power to lift it, though, if we were willing.