Inkwell and Paper

My Hair


Through the glass window, I watched as each woman changed her appearance slightly. My impulse drove me to the place I stand now, blood pumping ferociously through my veins.

I wasn’t sure this was what I wanted, but I knew I need to disguise myself. I couldn’t allow the tightly wound coils on my head to define who I was; however, it told my story.

He’d used it to drag me across the room.

“Shave it.”

Time to escape.


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