i [ n o r i ] v e r s e

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“No, I think it looked a little more like this.” A pen scribbled against the parchment.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, just pull it a little tighter.”

Chilchuck tugged on the blonde locks until they were snug against Marcille’s skull. 

“Yeah! That’s it!” Falin clapped in delight, and Chilchuck leaned back with a smug smile.

“There. Laios, you see? Easy. Now you try.” Chilchuck pulled the ties loose from the braids, and the entire hairdo collapsed. Marcille shook her head to get some of the wisps out of her eyesight, then turned the next page of her book.

A large presence settled behind her, and Marcille could feel his uncertain hesitation. “Don’t forget the comb, Laios,” Falin piped up.

“Ah, right.” A pause, and then a moment later Marcille could feel Laios’ hands awkwardly pick up her hair. He handled it like he would a newborn, anxious and delicate, but the way his sweaty palms would occasionally snag on her hair became too distracting for her to keep reading. 

“You don’t have to be *that* gentle about it,” Marcille said, closing the book and setting it on her lap. “Just treat it like you would if you were healing somebody. Be practical.”

Chilchuck groused from where he observed a few feet away. “You better pick this up quick, Laios, I’m leaving for Kahka Brud next week.” 

“Neither Chilchuck nor I will be able to help Marcille with her hair,” Falin said, her tone still soothingly soft despite the agitation of everyone else in the room, “so it’ll have to be you.”

Marcille flinched with a sound of surprise when Laios tugged her head sharply to one side. “Sorry!” he exclaimed, freezing up.

“It’s fine,” Marcille sighed, turning her attention to the paintings adorning the walls. She just had to be patient. This hair was getting to be more trouble than it was worth.

It felt like just a few minutes more before Laios’ hands left her, and she turned to see his arms pulled tight to his body in defeat, a grimace on his face like a student watching to see if their dungeonium survived the teacher’s grade. “That good?”

Falin and Chilchuck tilted their heads simultaneously, giving small hums of consideration. Chilchuck heaved a sigh and shook his head, and offered a hand mirror to Marcille. “Look for yourself. What do you think, Marcille?”

Marcille held the mirror up and moved her head left to right, searching for a feeling to rise in response. Satisfaction? Apprehension? She thought, and considered, and hoped, but all that answered her was an inky black nothingness in her stomach. “I don’t know,” she said. Hollow. She used to feel something there, when she looked at her hair. A sense of comfort, and a sense of pride. Her hair was like her mother’s, it connected them. And now all she could feel was…nothing.

Lowering the mirror revealed Laios’ face struck with despair, and she stammered. “Uh, I mean,” she raised the mirror again. “It’s a little…crooked?” Was that a good word to use? “It looks nice!”

“Here,” Chilchuck offered, reaching up, and Marcille turned her head toward his hands. He gripped the end of her hair and tugged on the tie holding it together. “If you take care to make sure all the strands get into the braid, it’ll look less sloppy.” The comb pulled through her loose locks again, and Marcille sighed. This all seemed like such a hassle.

“I could just cut it off, you know,” she said. “Falin has short hair! Lots of mages do!”

“No!” Laios exclaimed. “You love your hair! I mean, you used to! I’m sure if we get this right it won’t interfere with the way it helps your magic, like you said it would.”

“There are other ways to meditate,” Marcille mumbled.

“I’ll get this right. I *will*.” Laios’ voice was firm and stubborn. “Falin and Chilchuck are even drawing me instructions! I won’t waste their efforts!”

Marcille turned back around and picked up her book again, “Alright, have it your way.”