I own nothing.
Shannon has worn her hair long for as long as she can remember, since the days that it was bright golden, before her hair started darkening to the deep brown shade it now possesses. Long hair is more feminine, she is told and believes. She makes such a pretty girl, Kumasawa's always told her; why would she want to cut her pretty hair?
Said pretty hair lies in thick, limp curls on the surface of her dresser, rustling faintly in the stiff, late November breeze.
It is November thirtieth, and Shannon is cutting her hair. Her long brown hair, that which once rippled in thick waves halfway down her back, now brushes the back of her neck and not her shoulders, barely reaching past her chin. She hasn't any particular reason for doing it. She…
She just needed a change, that's all.
The other maids, Ruon and the rest, have no reaction to it. Shannon is still Shannon. Genji seems momentarily thrown by the sight of Shannon with short hair, but makes no comment. Kumasawa clucks and sighs, shaking her head and shooting Shannon a look of sympathy that makes Shannon duck her head and avoid Kumasawa for the rest of the day.
Jessica's eyes widen at the sight of Shannon's short hair. That's so cute! You should go for a pixie-cut like Aunt Kyrie; you'd look so pretty!
Shannon's heart clenches, and she's amazed that Jessica doesn't notice how bitter her smile is. Pretty? Is that what I'm supposed to look like? Or is it handsome?
-0-0-0-
On November thirtieth, I cut my hair.
Or am I even a 'she'? Am I a woman at all? After what I learned yesterday, I'm not really sure anymore.
This body is broken. This body is inhuman. This body can't love. I can never love anyone honestly, now that I know the truth about myself. Any time I try to pursue love, I will surely fail. This body is no better than furniture. I can only build a love based on deception, and when I am exposed, any love I built will crumble in the light of the truth.
On November thirtieth, I cut my hair. There's a face that mine's is supposed to resemble, the face that set all this in motion. But I hate my face, and I hate the face it looks like. I thought that if I cut off all my hair, I wouldn't look like that person anymore. I cut off my hair because I don't know what I'm supposed to be.
I'm so confused. I still look like that person, and I don't think I'll ever know what I'm supposed to be. I hate the mirror, for it shows me the truth.
