Well this just got a little darker. But I decided to go for something sad this time, so have some Detective!Shadow angst for your soul.
Hair
It was a knotty mess, grime and soot marring the long strands, drying and leaving it caked and in disarray.
Some of it had been ripped off, revealing—now—dark, dried flesh underneath, where her bare scalp had been brutally exposed to the night air; another sign of a struggle, he recognized stoically. It was as if she hadn't brushed it in days, having left it to revert to it's chaotic form without a care, spreading over her face like a sheet curtain and hiding her expression from his view.
He swallowed. She always took care of her hair.
"He knew her didn't he?"
"I heard they knew each other since they were young, my god. If it were me, I'd..."
"I'm so sorry, man."
Rouge's voice penetrated through the whispers, and though he didn't turn to look at her, he could already imagine the expression on her face.
"Maybe," he heard her pause, thinking of something to say—there isn't anything to make this better, he thought—then, "I think you should sit this one out, Shadow."
Shadow shrugged off her hand on his shoulder subconsciously, wanting nothing more than to analyze the scene and finish this case.
It was the same as always; someone had struggled to survive against their assailant, lost, and died. Now it was his job to investigate the details and find the perpetrator, put him on trial, and hear the news later from home with Maria, eat her homemade meals and hear her talk about life and the future and things he didn't bother to ponder about but would always listen to just to hear her voice.
A voice, he was realizing numbly, still staring at the golden locks shining even in the darkness of the muddy earth, he would never hear again.
Four completed. Ninety-six more to go.
(Credit for story image at aimf0324 on Tumblr. Go check out their art!)