It was an odd request, but she had always been eccentric and there was no harm in entertaining it. Perhaps even some benefit.
In return she would bequeath a third of her small fortune toward the maintenance of the seawall. The annual expenditure taxed townspeople for more than they cared to pay yet had to: Without the seawall there could be no beachfront properties, boardwalk, no hospitality.
Sure, it would alter the skyline, and for some would block the light a part of each day. But protestations were outnumbered by those who prophesied how the addition would bring curiosity and with it, added revenue.
She got her lighthouse. And the lift inside to help her now-frail body reach the top. In all but the worst weather, she spent hours there each day, white hair whipping in the spray.
“Our Rapunzel,” tour-guides could be heard whispering. “Been there from times immemorial.”
For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
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