Chapter 204: Serie with a High Ponytail
In the morning mist, Serie was sitting on a smooth stone, combing her hair with her reflection in the water. She had slept on it wrong, and a few stray strands were now sticking up in a most annoying way. She was trying to tame them with a bit of water, but as it dripped down, a few more errant strands fell into her face, and one even stuck to her lip.
"I should just cut it," she muttered, her voice a low and frustrated sound. "It's too much trouble." She frowned at her reflection, at the long, flowing hair, and a look of a new and terrible resolve came over her. A blade of a pure and cutting magic appeared in her hand.
But before she could act, a hand, a strong and familiar hand, stopped her.
"Don't," he said, his voice a rare and urgent sound. He had come up behind her and had seen what she was about to do.
"Why not?" she said, the magic at her fingertips dissipating. "It would be so much more convenient." She didn't understand why he was so agitated.
"It would be a pity to cut it," he said, and his own gaze lingered on her golden locks. "You just need a different hairstyle. How about... I do it for you?"
"You?" she said, and gave him a skeptical look.
"Just give me a try," he said with an unfounded confidence, and a comb, as if from nowhere, appeared in his hand. "I promise you'll be satisfied."
She looked at their reflections in the water and, with a sigh, she let him. She sat up straight, her hands on her knees, like a doll waiting to be dressed, and let him "play" with her hair.
At first, he was gentle, carefully combing out the tangles. But when he tried to braid it, the trouble began. The most ancient of human mages, a man who had created a thousand spells... he was all thumbs.
"Hiss—!"
She sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled a little too hard.
"Ahem, sorry!" he said, and quickly let go.
She turned and glared at him, a silent rage in her golden eyes.
"An accident," he said, his voice now a little less confident. "Just an accident. I'll be gentler."
She turned back, and he tried again, his movements now slow and careful. But he still couldn't get it right. It was either too loose, and the braid would immediately fall apart, or too tight, and it would just look strange.
She stared at her reflection, at the mess he was making of her hair, and a vein began to throb in her temple. Her poor hair was being tortured.
And then, he pulled it again.
"Mmmph!" she let out a muffled sound and turned, her eyes now a burning fire.
"My fault! My fault!" he said, and held up his hands in a gesture of a complete and utter surrender.
But she was not to be placated. She lunged forward, her own hands now aiming for his own short, black hair.
"Wait, what are you—!?" he cried, and tried to back away. But she was too fast. Her fingers closed around a lock of his hair, and with a sharp tug, a few strands came away in her hand.
"Hiss!" Now it was his turn to suck in a sharp breath.
"You pulled my hair," she said, a note of a triumphant revenge in her voice as she held up the few pathetic strands.
"That was an accident! This is deliberate!" he said, and rubbed his sore scalp. He was about to say more, but then he looked at her hair, at the mess he had made, and he just swallowed his words.
"Hmph," she said, and threw the hair away.
But then, she looked at her own reflection, at her own ridiculous-looking hair, and then at his own clumsy attempts, and in the end, she just said, "Fine. Just do something with it. I just don't want it in my face all the time."
It was an olive branch, a truce.
He knew he couldn't do anything complicated. He just took the comb and, once again, he carefully combed her hair smooth. And then, he gathered it all up at the back of her head and, with a ribbon he had bought in the town, he tied it into a high, neat ponytail. It was a simple thing, with no great skill involved. But it was effective.
Her long, golden hair was now out of her face, and her elegant neck and her delicate, pointed ears were now on full display.
"Well... it's not bad," he said, a little hesitantly. "It looks good."
She looked at her reflection, at the simple, almost-perfunctory ponytail, and she gave it a little shake. It was... much more convenient. She pursed her lips and tried to look displeased. "Hmph. It's just... okay," she said. But her own voice was now much softer, with a hint of an undeniable satisfaction.
"As long as it's practical," he said with a smile. It was a simple style, but it suited her.
Perhaps, he thought, I should try to learn a more complicated one next time. But then he quickly dismissed the thought. Slow and steady wins the race, he told himself.
(End of chapter)
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