Blonde Root Smudge Novels & Stories

And cut. I don't cry. I don't hesitate. This hair was the hair Aureliano stroked. This was the hair Spadino buried his face in. This was the hair Ciro held when he fucked me. It has to go. When I am done, my hair is a jagged, chin-length bob. It looks rough. Angry. I take out the box of hair dye. Jet Black. I mix it in the sink. The chemical smell burns my nose. I slap the black sludge onto my head, rubbing it into my scalp until it stains my skin.

After the team of professionals were done with me my icy blonde hair was curled into soft waves that cascaded down my back with an intricate braid that went from the side of my head under the delicate curls. After being plucked and prodded with tweezers, lash curlers, powders, and sprays, my usual pale complexion was now warm with a light blush and a natural smokey-eyed eye shadow. My full lips were lined with a muted mauve color, making my lips look soft and inviting.

"This… statement. We are getting rid of this. Immediately." I laugh softly to myself. In three, maybe four days, the blue will be back. It’s like a birthmark. Nothing I do can get rid of it. I sit silently through the next four hours as my head is washed, scrubbed, massaged, and then aggressively dyed a uniform, perfectly innocuous shade of light brown. The blue fights back, turning the water a pale, stubborn teal, but Marco is a professional mercenary. He wins by turning my blue highlights blonde.

“I’m going blonde.” Ava stared at me. “Blonde blonde?” “Apparently there are levels.” “I mean actual blonde. Not a few highlights you pretend are a personality change.” “All the way blonde.” Her expression shifted from surprise to delight. “You’ve had that honey brown forever.” “I know. They want something lighter for the campaign. Brighter. Whatever that means in marketing language.” I glanced toward the mirror across the room. “I agreed before I had time to talk myself out of it.” “What if you hate it?”

Holly shrugged. “And don’t worry, I plan on a more natural look. But, I think a little bit of smoky eye mixed with a good eyeliner, maybe some red lipstick...well that depends on your dress...” Flora started rambling on, coming up with her plan. Holly let her ramble. She was having fun. She could see the shape of the up-do Flora was creating and couldn’t wait to see the end result. Her dirty-blonde hair looked shiny and perfect. It almost didn’t look like her real hair, it was so lovely.

It flowed perfectly around her. taking in her face, she wore her makeup bright and with sharp details. Smokey eyes with a dark red lipstick that stood out as she smiled widely. Gone were the curls, replaced by a black wavy weave, swept to one shoulder and styled to perfection. Tiny gold studs nestled on her ears, her neck bare and without an accessory. She clutched a dark red purse, so tiny it barely fits a phone.

She said shaking my shoulders. The face staring back at me in mirror looked like it could be on a magazine cover. My precurled copper blonde hair fell in a soft frame around my face, my brows had been brushed out and laid obediently, a brown mascara made my lashes fuller and longer. My eyelids were painted a shimmery bronze, a matte plum around the corners, with a highlight of soft gold on the inner corners, they accentuated my amber eyes beautifully . A metallic bronze liner added some sparkle and warmth to it. A peachy coral blush ran from the apple of my cheeks blending all the way to my temples. My lips were lined a light brown and blended with soft cinnamon brown lipstick. I looked lika

It was bold and sinful. Perfect for a night like this. My auburn hair was styled into an elegant updo, with soft curls framing my face while the rest was twisted into a voluminous, intricate braid that fell over one shoulder. Delicate golden pins, shaped like crescent moons, gleamed within the strands, adding a touch of celestial charm. My makeup was just as daring. Smokey eyeshadow that made my olive green eyes stand out even more. A hint of blush on my high cheekbones. And lips painted a sultry shade of blood red.

she adds, shaking her head, “the effects wear off. So I don’t believe this was used on you. Your suppression’s been too consistent.” Staring at it, my stomach turns a little and I make a mental note to avoid anything that even vaguely resembles a sweet potato for the rest of my life. Her fingers move to the next. Our next possible culprit is a deep purple, almost black, shape resembling a small eggplant but sprouting thin, with hairy roots emanating from one end. “Wildroot. This one’s permanent. It disables the beast for life. You lose your scent, shifting takes longer than usual, and you don’t hear a voice in your head.”

She handed a small, wooden stirring rod to the boy from Obsidian Peak. "Mix it until it turns the color of a bruised plum," Sienna told him, guiding his hand. "The winter-rose brings essential moisture back to the dead tissue. The pine oil allows that moisture to penetrate the barrier of the skin, and the iron-root stops the underlying muscle from contracting and forming restrictive scar tissue." The boy stirred the mixture diligently. His eyes widened with awe as the contrasting colors blended into a rich, fragrant, deeply restorative salve. "Thank you, Arbiter."