Young Goddess Headscissor Novels & Stories

It was time to take control of my life and make a change. With a deep breath, I closed the mirror cabinet door and took a firm grip on the scissors. The cool metal felt reassuringly solid in my hand, like a lifeline to a new beginning. I raised the scissors high an inch above my shoulders, ready to take the plunge. My mind raced with doubts and uncertainty, but my body moved forward with conviction. With one swift motion, I brought the scissors down, cutting through the tangles of my long blonde hair. As the strands fell to the floor, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me. The weight of my hair, both physical and emotional, lifted from my shoulders. I stared at my reflection, watching as

The position left nothing hidden. The former high priestess approached first, silver ritual knife gleaming in the candlelight. “You are our Goddess now,” she whispered reverently. She leaned over Lila’s body and began making fresh, shallow cuts. One delicate line across the top of each breast. A long, elegant slash down the center of her belly. More on her inner thighs, framing her dripping sex. Each cut was precise, symbolic, and just deep enough for bright red blood to well up and trickle slowly over Lila’s skin.

I paid closer attention and I noticed that a lot of threads were linked and connected to a big thread. The one at the middle, took out a huge pair of scissors--gold and silver, long bladed like shears-- and cut the thread. I could feel a pinch in my heart as I heard the snapping sound echo in my head. As the thread was cut, so many other threads connected to it also fell. I shudder as three of them suddenly appear before me, with their blue eyes peering at me as they all repeated in unison. "Child gifted by Selene, goddess of the moon! Calamity and evil will befall you!

It was a pretty shade of ecru and the shine was one that depicted “luxury" I moved closer to eavesdrop on what kind of conversation was taking place and soon noticed she was scolding the girls for not knowing what a rotary scissors was. "Les filles, the organza only fight back because you do not handle her with care,” the lady said with a displeased look on her face, "Cruella de Ville would be so disappointed that you chose to desecrate this marvelous lady with the mouth of a normal scissor. I am more disappointed that you three do not remember what a rotary scissors is,” she said.

Meanwhile, my heart turned cold. ... My reflection was a blur through my tears as I stared into the mirror, pinching my hair between my fingers. My hair, once cascading down my spine, was now above my shoulders. It was jagged and uneven, clearly cut just to humiliate me. I took a deep breath and picked up the little bathroom scissors. I wiped my eyes and continued carefully snipping the uneven parts, trying to make it at least look presentable. The old me would have cried harder over this, I thought bitterly. That silly girl, still waiting for her eighteenth birthday, believing the Moon Goddess would bring her mate to her door and take her away from all this.

“She’s dead.” The words hung there, heavy and final. I pulled a pair of scissors from my bag, the same ones I used to cut bakery ribbons at events, back when life was simple and sweet and full of silly dreams. My hands shook as I raised them to my hair. For a moment, I hesitated. Each strand that fell would take another piece of her with it, the girl who trusted, who loved, who believed in saving others before herself. Then I cut. The blades sliced through the silence, sharp and merciless. Chunks of my hair fell into the sink, tumbling like memories I didn’t want anymore. Each snip was a small rebellion, a desperate act of erasing everything they had turned me into.

She grabbed a pair of scissors from the vanity—left there from the final wedding gown alterations earlier in the day. I thought for sure she was about to attack me. Nox’s rage swept over me and I growled, low in my throat. It wasn’t the angry, lost growl of a rogue. It was the fighting snarl of a Luna. I felt it wash over me in a bloom of strength. Cassandra faltered, but her grip around the scissors tightened, her knuckles going white. “Leave,” she said, all pretense of arrogance gone from her voice. “He’s mine.”