Solo Chopping and Changing

[Azira]

12th Spring 514AV

The foul winter weather was supposed to be over but it had made a reappearance. Or rather, the spring version of it had made an appearance. Sometime in the early bells of the morning, storm clouds had rolled in over the city, darkening the sky before Syna even had a chance to lighten it. Rain had apparently been battering the mountain since Syna’s normal rising time and didn’t show signs of letting up anytime soon. Hunting was likely to be a near impossibility for most of Wind Reach’s hunters but that didn’t concern Azira at the moment. She wasn’t hunting right now anyway.

The huntress preferred to stay in her room anyway. Her isolation was by choice these days rather than forced upon her by riots, or weather. Winter had left its mark on her but not in the way that it had affected most of the Inarta. Her near rape the day the riots began had been the breaking point in her mind. She had already been having nightmares, dredged up by bad experiences during the season but those Dek had made something snap within her. Not only had she butchered the one that she’d gotten her hands on but also something had changed within her. When she’d recovered from the snap, she’d had time to think, time to consider how to change things. Now the young woman had begun to think that a change was in order, an end to her troubles as she saw them.

Men had always bothered the Avora in one way or another. It was because she was pretty. As a Dek that would have been the worst sort of curse but as it was, she was in a better position than the slave caste. It didn’t always help though, the threat to her person was still there, lessened yes but it was still a threat. Azira had been searching for some sort of solution and there was only one that she could think of: she couldn’t be pretty anymore.

She didn’t have the nerve to mutilate her face though she’d been trying. Every time she lifted the blade and saw the point coming towards her, her stomach roiled and she had to abandon the endeavour. Every single time. The girl couldn’t find a way to do it but she had to try to do something to diminish her beauty. She might be able to find a way to get someone to smash her face in, or could maybe run into an accident with a Wind Eagle like Lavira had. The idea made her shudder but it was better than the alternative, right? The young woman had decided to do something that she could stomach. She was planning to hack off most of her hair.

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[Azira]

It would not be difficult except psychologically and it was something that Azira was determined to do. Her hair was braided; she’d left it that way on purpose. Her hair wasn’t completely braided though, tightly held but unbound across the crown of her head. It hadn’t been washed in days, a mass of greasy tails but it didn't matter; it wouldn't be there for much longer. She’d just have to cut through the hair as close to the top of each braid as possible and that'd leave her with a few inches of hair once her hacking was complete. If she did this then she would destroy her crowning glory.

The Inarta were very vain where their hair was concerned, amongst the higher castes at least. The lower caste members did tend to wear their hair shorter and weren't as prone to decorating it. She couldn’t allow her hair to fool anyone into thinking she was a lower caste member though so if she went through with this then she would be sure to exercise her authority. It’d mean she’d have to be better at protecting herself, learn to use a talon sword, learn to fight with her hands again, become stronger than she was now. However, that was for the future. There would be no if in the matter though; her makeover was a certainty.

Feeling for the top of a braid, she slid her hunting knife under it and began to saw. She pulled the braid in question until it was taut to make the cutting easier. Individual hairs were cut in half, the remainder of each strand floating back to her scalp. The blade was sharp and good for this sort of work so within less than a chime, the braid had been detached from her head. The spot where it had come from felt lighter, cooler and the girl found herself staring at the disembodied tail with a curious sense of emotional detachment. It somehow didn't belong to her, at least not anymore. Azira let it drop to the floor and moved onto another one. Soon it too joined its fellow at her feet.

The huntress had never thought about just how much hair she actually had but she became more aware of it as she dropped each newly sliced braid to the floor. The locks that hadn’t been cut in years were piled atop one another, a haphazard heap of red and orange as the light caught it. It looked like some dead animal. That’s what it was like. It was as if she’d killed something and just left it on the floor. She was killing part of herself with slow finality, allowing something of herself to be lost, killed at her own hands. Yet Azira didn't feel anything at all but a cold determination. It was all coming off in an act of cold blooded murder with not a fibre of remorse within her as she carried it out.

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[Azira]

Slice.

A few loose strands fluttered to the ground in a slow, soundless spiral.

Slash.

A larger hunk of hair fell and landed fully on the growing pile, small fragments of hair rising in a little cloud with its impact.

Saw.

A plait that the knife's blade struggled through came loose at last, leaving soft snapping sounds in its wake. Hair was pulled taut, hacked at, yanked free until her scalp was left feeling raw and cold and there was no more long strands to be found. Even the occasional errant strands that had escaped a braid and the blade while their fellows were massacred were removed mercilessly. When it seemed done, the huntress let the blade drop, clattering on the floor as her hands pawed over her head searching for any more long bits. When she didn't find any her fingers ran through what was left of it all and came into open air far sooner. A chunk was grabbed, stretched and flattened against her face to find the length. There was hardly anything the grab anymore but the new length seemed to be just shy of the bottom of her ear lobe. It didn't reach as far as the tip.

Amber gaze floated down to the pile of hair that she had left behind her. For some reason that she didn't know, she crouched beside it lifting sections of it and stroking them. It was so strange to think that this had been attached to her head not so long ago. Some of it was still warm from where it had been recently pressed against the skull. There was so much of it too and it made her wonder just how much was left. It was one thing to feel it blindly and measure it in one spot but she had no idea how it looked anymore. She was convinced that if she saw herself in the mirror that her reflection would seem completely alien to her but Azira wasn't sure. She needed to see it.

The Avora stood, moving to her mirror to see her new appearance for the first time. Wide golden hued eyes met her own, fearful and curious as her reflection was examined. It had never occurred to her just how different she would look. The removal of the hair which had always softened her jawline had exposed it. It looked harder, more angular. Different areas had been cut to varying lengths by her horrible cutting. It had been her own fault for using a jagged blade and doing it blind as well. The left side - right hand side in the reflection in the mirror - was longer than the right, the more frontal bits longer than those at the back.

The knife was retrieved from its place on the floor, carried back to complete the job. The strands that were longer than the rest were cut a little more evenly. Not all of it was exactly the same length by the time the young woman was done but it was close. She twisted her head from side to side to make sure, what was left of her red hair flying out around her. She shook it out again until it unruly and disheveled, one lick sticking out at the side, a bit sticking up on the crown, other areas flat. Azira met her own gaze solemnly then, the deed done. It felt so much lighter now that she had less hair and more air could get in at her scalp now that she no longer had braids bundled up tight against it. No more suffocating hair.

The reflection began to blur and wobble as droplets of water obscured her view. The first tear dropped abruptly, landing got and wet on her cheek before sliding down and leaving a trail behind it. The other eye, not wanting to be left out, relinquished its droplet too and allowed it to leave a track on the other cheek. Soon more tears joined the first ones, the huntress staring at her reflection until sobs began to travel up through her throat, wracking her chest and setting her frame shaking, bending over itself. When air allowed she started to wail as the remorse came.

Too late to do anything now but for the best she knew, only for the best.

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