Why yes, Watson

When I was a young lass, dressed all in skirts and bows I had an especial fondness for french braiding all the sinuous fiber I could get my tiny nails on. Of course, my temple was a constant playing field for this. Oh! and the fondness I had for camp. All the heads in the world to french braid. The fools. Pigtails and curly locks. Blasphemy. Freyja came to my dreams, "Slay the other girls dear child. Their hair reaches far from their bodies, grasping for impurity. It shall steal your thoughts and tie your perfect braiding hands together."

Awakening in a panic, I did not scream. A short gasp with clasped hands was the extent of my outburst. I peered beyond my bunk. A room full of french braids confused me, what was Freyja talking about. I had conquered this land with my sinewy digits. Then it occurred to me, perhaps the other rooms hadn't received my communion. My fingers knotted for my goddess, it was imperative that I redeem myself in the eyes of my lady.

I crept beyond my cell, having received the sign. The creaking of screen doors was my only worry, for I knew my capabilities well. My hair-crossing skills would not disappoint this fine eve. Into the world of the Chickadees I crept, on toes and fingertips, building strength. My head darting left and right, appalled at the sight of frilly unkempt hair.

I crept silently strangling each young girl, only after having taken care of the counselor who slept nearest the door. They would not have willingly let me twist their twine-like locks. I dragged their pale pink flannel covered corpse to the middle of the room. Sitting crossed-legged I began my task, slowly braiding each girls head to the girl next to her. My 9 headed french-braid, too long had such perfection desired to be freed from the beyond.

Freyja smiled upon me and my temple of 9 year old blonds.