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[Amdiriel a'Dae]

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“Your father is going to kill you.” Cezanne backed up a step and looked over her handiwork.

“My father told me I am 'of age' and free to do what I want with my life. That includes my hair.” Amdiriel giggled and turned to look in the mirror, then froze. An unexpected lump in her throat nearly choked her and tears swiftly filled her eyes. Her hair was gone, all but a careless mop of blonde, like a pixie might wear. She looked at the piles at her feet, spun gold that had until now reached her waist.

“What the bloody hell…” A tear had splashed heavily on the floor, and another ran down the crease of her nose. “I’ve wanted my hair cut for ten years, and now that it’s cut, I’m crying??”

Cezanne patted her back and rubbed it gently, laying the scissors on the dressing table. “It’s a major change, Amdiriel. It will take some getting used to. I think it looks beautiful.” She fluffed it lightly. An hour earlier, it was golden waves to her waist, looped and braided ornately in a very elven fashion.

Amdiriel sniffled and sighed deeply. Until this moment, she’d have passed for elven, except for the ears of course. Serignin had raised her as he would have raised his own daughter, and for that he was thankful. But nearly twenty years of a square peg being squeezed into a round hole had been stifling.

Cezanne noticed a bottle sitting on the dressing table, and her eyes brightened. “Maybe you just need a little colour!”

Amdiriel’s face lit up at the idea. “Oooh, maybe some amethyst and crimson streaks!”

Cezanne looked mortified. “Your father is going to kill us both…”