Blue Streaks Short Hair Novels & Stories

I shake my head slightly. I'm slender, yes, but still not perfect. I feel an arm wrap around me. "We look amazing, don't we?" She grins, and I turn to look at her reflection. Now Beatrice is fantastic. Long legs, blue eyes, auburn hair. Her body is impressive. The benefit of going to the gym. Well, not auburn, as she is blonde but dyes her hair to hide that fact.

chirped the stylist who was admiring the work she had done in my hair. My hair? I've no words, literally. My once wavy hair is now straightened and is curled at the ends, it had light blue strands and my hair was now a shade of hazelnut instead of pure black. Really? Light blue? I guess that's the color of the dress I'll be wearing. "Did you like it?" she asked squealing. She is a beginner I think. "Yeah, you are good," I said not wanting to disappoint her as she'd only just started her job.

“Easily fixed. My personal assistant, Pamela, will take you shopping this afternoon. Get your hair and make up done. “The blue-” I reach out, finally succumbing to the temptation to touch her, and gently pick up a strand of her vibrant, electric blue hair mixed in with the blonde, twirling it around my fingers. “-will attract undue attention, Lyric. Attention that could be detrimental to our plans.” She self-consciously runs her hands over the shock of colour. “I- I tried to colour it. It comes back within a few days. It’s a part of me.”

All I could see were the usual deep blue irises with their new silver flecks. “Edwin,” I called, my voice trembling, “will werewolves hate me for my silver eyes, just like they do for my hair?” I turned to find him standing in the doorway, confusion etched into his face. “Your hair?” he asked, tilting his head. Swallowing hard, I realized I had never told him about my silver streak. It was always dyed, hidden away from the world. From him. “I... I have a silver streak,” I admitted, pulling back the hair just behind my ear to reveal the roots that were just barely starting to show through. “Right here. I keep it dyed to match the rest of my hair, but…”

I arched my slender brow at her. "Because it looks better on you, and besides black leather was the dress code this year. So suck it up, buttercup, and let's go." She pulled my wrist again, forcing me to follow closely behind. The cool breeze picked up her thick, curly, black hair, which she had streaked with blue dye, almost matching the color of her eyes. "You know black looks good against that pasty white skin of yours, so don't complain." "Gee, thanks," I rolled my eyes at her.

We head to yet another store and she begins her search anew. “This is actually quite tricky. Since your hair is blue we need to make sure it doesn't clash. I don't really want to put you in black. It would look okay, but I think it won't be as flattering as something in blue or purple. Maybe even white.” She says as she browses. She holds up a few dresses in front of me, but quickly dismisses them. “Yes, I am definitely leaning towards blue to match your hair.” She suddenly stops and gasps.

I stared at my reflection, watching as my once-long locks transformed into a sleek, shoulder-length bob. Next, dipping the brush into the vibrant pink dye, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement wash over me. I carefully painted the dye onto the tips of my hair, watching as the pigment spread evenly across each strand. As I worked, I felt myself transported back to my childhood days, when playing dress-up and trying out different hairstyles was a daily occurrence. This feeling only intensified as I examined my reflection in the mirror, admiring how the pink gradients seemed to dance along the edges of my blonde hair.

I winked, running a hand over my curls before throwing up the doors to the walk-in closet. “Where do you get your hair dyed? I always wanted to get streaks in my hair. Or just outright dye it to not be a blonde.” Persephone asked as I started pulling clothes off hangers. “Oh, I don’t. This is natural. Like how André has that blue streak, I have red streaks. No clue why. We just do. André says it’s because we are too fabulous to have normal hair. I think it’s more to do with being hybrids or half-breeds as some rudely call us.” I huffed, putting some outfits onto the bench at the end of the bed.

Spreading out the individual strands, he moved them around. "Are you trying to take up hair weaving?" I asked. He laughed. "No. But you're right. There is something different about it. It's almost like your hair is absorbing light instead of reflecting it." He looked up, caught my gaze. "Does that make sense?" I nodded. "Yeah. But instead of the ash undertones, they're closer to blue." I twisted around, changed how the light hit my hair while looking in the mirror. "I don't know. That sounds crazy."

“Girl… what did you do to your hair?” “What are you talking about?” I asked, seriously confused. Without a word, she shut her locker, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me down the hall. “Where are we—” “The bathroom,” she snapped. We burst into the restroom and she spun me to face the mirror. I gasped. My reflection stared back, but something was off. Way off. “My… my hair. My hair!” Strands of it—no, streaks—were blue. Not bright blue, but electric enough to be impossible to miss. And not the even kind you get from a salon. These streaks looked like they had grown out of me overnight.