#daydreaming...posts

Girlhood wasn't really something you got to grow into.

Middle school introduced the full throttle of make-up, accessories and hairstyles onto the girls your age. And you found it fun, in fact, you always wanted to join the bandwagon.

But your dear gran was just so worried. She'd hold your hands tight and tell you that presenting so feminine can be dangerous. You will be stared at, perhaps even talked to by strangers, god - it would hurt your dear Grandma's heart should you walk outside while presenting in a girlish way. She'd be worried sick.

‘The boys would stare…’

‘Think about the way home, it gets dark so quickly during fall and winter.’

'It's unsightly.’

‘You are way too young.’

‘You’d get unwanted attention.’

And you didn't want to worry her.

So with a sad smile you were always the odd one out. You'd wear big T-shirts and pants. The girls in your class looked at you with such a pitiful yet mocking expression. One time they even ‘accidentally’ cut your hair and when Caleb picked you up from school that day, your silent begging to just go home was the only thing that stopped him from acting against the bullies. Grandma saw it as an opportunity to keep your hair short. It stayed the same even in highschool, where you were mistaken as Caleb's little brother once.

In the Hunter Academy, you were able to loosen the insistence of your grandma and managed to grow your hair to just above your shoulder again.

When you first wore the official Hunter's uniform, you couldn't be happy. The only thought that crossed your mind was ‘Grandma would worry if she saw the bare stomach.’.

When Tara would try to convince you to do anything girlish, you'd decline with a sour smile. Too scared, too constricted.

Even when the explosion took her, you just couldn't free yourself of the shackles.

-

Now, the dress Sylus made you wear for the auction was…gorgeous. The black and velvet felt so nice on your skin, it was practical to move in. The accessories glittered and reflected the dim lighting of the hallway. You didn't dare touch your hair, not knowing how, so the matching black claw-clip was in your hand. You didn't have any make-up you could use. And so it felt sinful to walk along this disgustingly expensive carpet in heels you weren't used to.

He held his hand out for you to take and wore that smirk. Black gloves met his calloused hand and he observed you. Looked you up and down and there was no way to tell if his gaze was scrutinizing. Red eyes met your face and then your hair, then to the claw clip in your hand.

“...not to your taste?”

“That's not it…”

Fingers clenched around the material of the hair accessory. He raised an eyebrow, urging you to continue.

“...I don't know how to put it in. I mean, it's kinda obvious how to, but-”

Before you could bring a finished sentence into the room, he grabbed the clip from your hand and spoke “Turn around.”

“Huh?”

He sighed. “I'll help you.”

With a bit of hesitation you turned around. Something about turning your back to the Onychinus leader was unnerving, an inner part of your brain scratched that it was crazy, but the moment his hands pulled your hair to the back with an uncharacteristic gentleness, the scratch stopped. He left a bit of hair out on purpose, letting it frame your face, and clasped the rest in place neatly by the claw clip.

Your hand traced over it carefully and you turned around and met his eyes. He huffed, satisfied with himself and put his hands in his pant pockets.

You recall the sentence that left him earlier.

‘No one can stay wary, when there's a beauty walking around.’

You're not used to being described with that adjective.

-

After the auction, Sylus waved you off when you wanted to return the dress and its accessories to him.

‘It was tailored for you. It's yours now.’

His way of using his money was…questionable to you. The dress was miles outside of your budget range and you hung it straight and neatly, in order to not even get a hint of a wrinkle in the luxurious fabric.

Closet doors were open and you stared at it, like it was some sort of glorious painting in a museum.

‘Maybe I should frame it.’ you thought as you sighed dreamily. When the tips of your hair slide over the back of your neck, you shudder, because it reminds you of Sylus' fingertips in your hair when putting it up with the clip.

Your poor pillow is the target of your suppressed squeal. A dress was in your possession.

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