French Braid นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“Are you okay? You have been in here a while. If you don’t want to go, I can cancel.” “No, I will be fine. I don’t have much energy. It is taking me longer than normal to get ready.” “Can I help in any way?” “Unless you can do make-up or braid hair, no.” I laugh. “I can’t do make-up, but I can French braid.” “You can?” I ask, shocked. Where would he even learn that? “Yes, I dated a woman a while ago who taught me.” “Do you want me to do your hair?”

“What’s going on? Why does someone look so grumpy this morning?” I said as soon as I entered Stephie's room. Her hair was a mess, and she kept avoiding the maid from brushing it. “Mommy! You’re here!” Stephie rushed toward me and snatched the brush from the maid’s hand. “Kitty said she could do a French braid, but she doesn’t even know how! You do it instead.” The maid smiled awkwardly, clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I really don’t know how to braid it properly from the top.”

Hardin demands, holding out his hand. "You really want to do this?" I ask curiously, not entirely certain what is happening right now. He's brushed my hair before, but never styled it or anything. "Bobble." He repeats. Sighing, I hand him the bobble and let him do as he pleases. It only takes a minute or so, and the end result takes me by surprise. He knows how to french braid hair? "Did you used to braid Lyra's hair?" I softly ask, running my hand over the perfectly neat french braid down the centre of my head.

“I appreciate you, Ma. I love you so much.” She sniffs, wipin’ a tear off her cheek. “I love you too, sweetheart.” Aunt Lena helps me step into the gown, lacin’ up the back, then starts on my long, white-blonde hair. She twists the front away from my face, gentle as a summer breeze, then braids it low at the nape of my neck, weavin’ in sprigs of purple lupine. My braid hangs all the way to my waist, the tiny blossoms smellin’ like the wild meadows of home.

He didn’t give me a sarcastic response, for probably the first time since we’d met. “Three strands,” I instructed him, undoing my own braid to start at the base of my neck again. It was nothing fancy, just a simple way to prevent my hair from being an annoyance. If he was new to long hair, he would definitely need to learn braids, too. Slowly, I showed him how to maneuver one over the other, in a pattern. He picked it up quickly; it wasn’t like it was difficult.

he murmured, moving behind me. His hands brushed my hair as he leaned in closer. “I want to tie your hair in braids. Hold still.” I watched him intently, noticing the way his eyes followed each strand of my long, wavy hair as he carefully twisted and weaved it into braids. His fingers moved with surprising precision, and when he finally tied the last section, I couldn't help but feel genuinely impressed. The braid was perfect—neat, even, and beautifully done. Curious, I reached up to touch the braids, running my fingers along the smooth pattern he had created. “Is this your first time doing this?” I asked, tilting my head slightly as I studied his handiwork.

“How many pieces?” “Three,” Wren said promptly. He divided the hair into three sections with the careful precision of a man disarming a bomb. “And then what?” “You cross them.” “Cross them where?” She craned her neck to look at him. “You don’t know how?” “Do I look like someone who knows how to braid?” “Yes,” she said firmly. Liora smothered a laugh in her hand. Varian’s eyes narrowed at her, then went back to the strands. He crossed the first two sections, then the third over them. The result was a twisted rope that slid apart as soon as he let go.

Taking the dress I moved to inspect it only to see that the dress came with pockets and for that I became excited for who didn’t love a good dress with pockets. Pockets? Yay! Giggling with excitement, I move to get dressed while Alex moves to grab me a pair of white ballet flats before returning, helping me slide them on before asking if he could brush and style my hair, something I found odd but wasn’t going to say no when he asked me so nicely. Brushing my hair, I continued to sit in utter silence until he was finished. Noticing how he had braided my hair into a beautiful, yet stylish French braid, tiny gold clips adorning the braid as he did.

They worked in silence, the only sound the gentle rustling of hair against fabric and the occasional splash of water. Once her hair was thoroughly detangled, the maids began the delicate process of fixing it. They wove the strands together, creating an intricate ombre effect that blended seamlessly from dark ebony at the roots to a soft, silvery white at the tips. The final touch was a loose braid that hung down her back, its ends tied with a simple ribbon. The effect was stunning—her hair seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, complementing her pale skin and accentuating the sharp angles of her face.

St James were getting cornrows, but I think Dee said he had wanted a mohawk braid, but was fighting with his Mom about it. Jazz, using her incredible braiding skills, braided the sides of my hair looking like swirls and then going down to just past my neck before my natural curls took over. She also braided the center in a thick French braid down the center that also ended at the same spot as the others. I was done about a third into Krista’s hair and Mrs. St James sat where I was after Jazz washed her hair.