She looks at him. He's sitting on the bed, water running down his back. His hair – it's wet, glistening with a black luminosity. He's fingering locks of it, gazing at it in mild disbelief. It's so dark.
She hates it. She doesn't like it at all, she liked the luminous golden strands of before. Before everything happened. Before, when they were one family, complete and whole. Now, she sees a hollowed piece of metal and a boy pretending to be something he's not.
She almost cries when she braids his hair, hair that was once healthy and shone like the sun.
Hair that was once natural.