Delinquent Hair Novels & Stories

They will be the first to die when the hounds attack again. I adjust the clip holding my thick kinky brown hair, making the wayward strands half-conform once more. I've thought about cutting it a thousand times. A thousand times I resist. It's my one vanity. Running a brush through my hair at night grounds me. It's such a simple task even though keeping it clean and lice free isn't easy. I shiver at the thought of the small creepers that make so many shave their bodies. The new world sucks.

That would have to wait until later though because I had a Mate Ball to crash. Delphine, being the multi-talented Goddess she was, did my hair and make-up for the event. I hadn’t yet told her who the Alpha was to me or what he’d done, but she knew that tonight I needed to be a showstopper. She curled my hair until it fell down my back in waves of gold. Before all of this, I had brown hair like my mother, cropped close to my shoulders. Over four years it had grown down my back, and with just a smidgen of hair dye, it was the same silky blonde as my father’s.

Shanaya impatiently brushed her hair for what felt like the hundredth time, frustration etched on her face. The morning had already proven to be a series of regrets, as she realized her mistake of not booking a salon appointment for such a special occasion. With an exasperated sigh, she gathered her unruly curls into a messy bun, hoping it would at least pass as effortlessly chic. Securing the bun with a few jeweled pins, she braced herself to face the mirror once more.

And while doing that, I address to her my concern then requested in the latter, "Please make her change her mind!" The laugh she made is promising enough that I shouldn't expect any help from her. "Don't be a coward! She gave you the chance. It's a sheer opportunity for you to prove how much you can sacrifice for her." "You're right, but... my hair..." I've been holding on to my creed that my long hair is my lifetime asset. Not even Cormelio can change my mind. "Hessuel, it's a choice between your hair and Dandeline." She's holding back a laugh. "And besides, you'll grow your hair again if you give it up now. No worries! I'm looking forward to your new look."

"I like your hair. I think it's thicker than mine." "It comes with the full package of being extremely good looking." Delia gripped a handful of his hair and pulled it forcefully. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She loosened her grip and began to massage his hair again. "That was painful." "I know, and that is why I did it. I needed to do something about your cockiness." "You are basically punishing me for being truthful." "I will pull your hair again if you don't stop bragging." "I am sorry ma'am."

The same goes for the rest. When Delaney noticed his glum expression, she bit her lower lip to prevent her from laughing. In their heads, they were undoubtedly cursing her for suggesting it. She took a deep breath and gave herself a quick glance. Hers wasn't too horrible; she dressed in an old skirt and a brown t-shirt she had picked up in the hamlet. Her black hair had become a fiery red colour. She knows she needs to trim it, but her long hair is one of her favourite features that she adores. She'd have to cut it now, which is a shame. She cut the hair with a razor, her heart breaking as she did so. "You do aware it won't grow back, right?" Knox asked shortly after she had done so. Being

With a sharp move of my fingers, I flung disillusion magic across the platform. The spell struck before the Queen could react. For one suspended second, nothing happened. Then her perfect white hair warped, collapsed, and turned. Brownish-black strands spilled into view, dull and uneven, the roots unevenly tinted, the texture rough and poorly maintained—hair that had been forced into deception for far too long. The hall exploded for the umpteenth time. People physically recoiled, feet scraping loudly against the marble as they backed away from the platform—as if the deception itself might leap at them.

The picture on the screen felt like an uppercut, taken right on the chin. It was a picture that mocked their failure—a picture that sent a wave of emotions through their core. The study, once a place of peace, knowledge, and warmth, was now a stage for a nightmare. Her father, once a king in the mansion, was now a disgraced and dethroned king. The shadowy figure behind him was a phantom, a ghost in their own narrative, and the eagle tattoo was a brand, a symbol of a power they had grossly underestimated.

My brain feels as if it is about to swell beyond the limits of my skull, and the dehydration I am feeling is now far too evident to ignore. I drag my body down and attempt to get out of bed. But before I can get out of bed, the doors to the room I am in burst open, and a panicked Delila rushes in. Her hair is dishevelled, her eyes are crimson, and the glamour girl from the night before had vanished, leaving just a pink lattice over the white.

Dianne styled her hair which was quite difficult for her to deal with today. "Ah, should I just get a haircut, huh?" she muttered to herself while looking at her appearance in front of her dressing table. Over the past few weeks, Dianne has also noticed that her hair is falling out more and more. "My hair is getting unhealthier by the day," she says, curling her lips downward. "My hair is dry, split, and the scalp is often flaky."