Weird Hair Colours Novels & Stories

Brinn warned. "Perhaps I should do it," Renat offered. "Thank you, but no." With her hand over the red jewel, Mairwen combed the ends of her hair. The affected piece turned the same shade as the stone. She tried putting her hand over the different colored gems, and each one revealed a streak of hair matching its hue. By the end, Mairwen had a rainbow of colors along the base of her gorgeous coif. "It is a magical hair colorant!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"Wait—how is she even going to pull that off?" "Haircut time, Princess." He smirked. I glared at him. Of course he was enjoying this. He always looked happy when I had to give something up. "We found a wig-maker while you were getting your tattoo," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "They’re making two wigs out of horse hair. Apparently, no one has your exact shade." I stared at him, stunned. "Of course they don’t," I whispered. I looked down, picking at a piece of lint. Even in a house full of my own kind, I was an outlier. A freak of color.

I found the way he moved with a confident, yet not overly so, posture alluring. He was close enough that I could vaguely smell the traces of sweat from hard work and something about that sent my hormones into overdrive and I felt my body tingle ever so slightly. I drifted my gaze away from his concentrated expression to his hair since I felt that it would be the safer option. His hair was neither long nor short but somewhere in between and it was completely dishevelled and slightly windswept which was probably the result of running away from the rest of our year. While both our hair was red, mine was more of a flaming coppery red colour. My hair was vibrant and somewhat similar to the sun wi

' "Hey. What's your name? I don't want to call my baby's father by only 'you' or 'hey'." He hugged Fuschia's body even tighter. "I don't have a name. They just call me... blonde," "Not wrong. You do have amazing blonde hair so, don't be upset about it." “My hair is… amazing?” "Yes. You don't know?" Of course, he didn't know there were humans in this kingdom who thought his hair color was amazing. So far they have only picked a fight with him just because his hair was so light-colored and rare. The typical hair color of a slave from the past.

However, his body was quite thin, which made him a bit dissatisfied since he felt his body was weak. (His appearance is similar to Lancelot in Fate). However, even though this guy was weak, he had a bazooka inside his pants which made him feel relieved. Monica touched his long light purple hair and felt a bit weird since he knew that his hair color was natural. However, he remembered that there were no people in Asia with purple natural color, where most people had black hair. 'Mother's hair is also purple...' Monica remembered that many people he had seen in the past month also had various hair colors from blonde, red, blue, etc. He was wondering if there was someone who had a rainbow color

she remarked, grabbing another towel to dry her hair. "Oh gods," I mutter, my mind immediately going to the worst place. "How did you figure it out then?" "Well your hair was the first clue; I've never seen any creature with hair that color." I look in the mirror. Soaking wet it looks black but when it's dry it is almost the color of blood. "Yeah red hair is pretty common for dragons," I sigh. "Yeah not so much with wolves. And then when things got particularly exciting last night, your eyes all of the sudden looked like fire and you got pretty aggressive."

I used to be pretty bald as a kid, my hair was so short that I could only put them in little pig tails, but age 13 or 14, my hair started growing like some sort of lab freak. Mom had been excited, she said it only meant I would have a pretty wolf, my hair was supposed to be the color of my wolf. I didn’t believe her, not more than do I now. It has been years and said pretty wolf is yet to show up. It wouldn’t be that big a deal if the inch I grew over night wasn’t bright silver in color. I drop my face into my palm, biting my lip for a minute to mute out the scream of curses I was going to let out, I didn’t want to call any attention to myself.

But I haven’t seen many ninth graders with mohawks. It was dyed black with platinum blonde streaks, and stood up two feet from her head. Apparently she changed her hair color as often as most women change their bras, because I’d seen pictures of her with dozens of different variations: red and black, yellow and orange, completely blue, all colors of the rainbow at once, purple and pink, a dozen different shades of green. The funny thing was, besides dying it and spiking it, she didn’t keep up the rest of the hairstyle too well. She currently sported a soft brown fuzz over the rest of her skull, like she couldn’t be bothered to shave it.

And then I see it. A streak of silver-white cutting through my golden locks like a slash of moonlight. My stomach clenches. This isn’t normal. I tilt my head, running my fingers over the strands as if touching them will somehow make them disappear. But they don’t. They stand out in stark contrast against the rest of my hair. A lump forms in my throat. I’ve never heard of this happening to a human before. Twenty-one-year-olds don’t just wake up with silver hair. It’s unnatural.

I felt the falling temperature as well and noticed that there must something terrible happened, so I said to her: "Well, Miss Isabella, if it's hard to say you could just ignore me will be alright." Isabella, who had been silent at first, suddenly interrupted me, then changed back to her sloppy appearance at the beginning and said: "Weirdness is the result of the unwillingness of people after death, the spiritual wisdom born after a hundred years of immortality, and the rumours spread by word of mouth. In the final analysis, weirdness is the existence of hatred and resentment, do you understand, little cutie."