Prompt: Give me a brush, I'll fix your hair
"WHY… ARE YOU… BEING… SO FUCKING… ARGH" Stella demanded of her tousled blond hair as she tried to run her brush through it. Her golden blonde locks were usually perfectly cooperative, always flowing the way she wanted and shining like the ray of sun she was. Today, they were the literal opposite: dull and messy, unable to be untangled.
She dropped the brush onto the vanity table, not caring as it clanged loudly against the blush compact that had been left laying out from when she'd done her make up earlier. Her hands ran through her hair as far as they could before they were blocked by the knots a few inches from her forehead, and she propped her elbows up onto the vanity.
Messy hair was only the final straw in a horrible morning. She had hoped that upon returning from their search for the Mirror of Truth, things would go back to normal, or at least normal enough that she wouldn't want to scream every second of every day. She would have to save her father from Cassandra's clutches, she knew that would be the case regardless. What she hadn't expected was that Cassandra's spell would have erased her from the memory of everyone in Solaria – it was like Her Royal Highness Princess Stella of Solaria had disappeared. Her father's assistant hadn't even recognised her and very firmly (and rudely) refused to transfer her call to His Royal Majesty. Her mother had even claimed that calling her and 'pretending' to be Stella – her missing daughter – was a cruel prank.
She felt entirely hopeless. How was she supposed to reclaim her rightful place in her family – in her life - if she couldn't convince the woman that had given birth to her that she was Stella of Solaria? Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and ruin her perfect face. Would that be so bad if she wasn't so perfect for one day? Her friends would understand if she wasn't in tip top shape; they had to. Today could be one of those days where she stayed in bed watching cheesy movies and stuffing herself with junk food, makeup running down her face, old, ugly PJs and a fucking bird's nest for hair.
A knock at the door drew her out of her daydream of cozy PJs and awful romcoms. She sniffled and forced herself to take a deep breath, wiping the tears away from her face just in time for the door to open behind her. In the mirror, she watched Brandon come into the room and look at the piles of clothes strewn on the floor. "You know, Stel" he chuckled, "For someone that cares about clothes so much, you do throw them on the floor a lot."
He was right, she did do that. She would scold the girls for grabbing any of her clothes with delicate materials too harshly then turn around and toss those same clothes on the floor when she tried them on and decided against it. Stella chuckled halfheartedly – a fact that did not go unnoticed by Brandon. He took one look at her and his gaze softened. He gave her the look; the same one he gave her every time she was upset; the one that said what's wrong, sunshine? and I'm here for you. She hated that look for one reason: it made her cry. Every negative thought and feeling that she had pushed back and barricaded behind a door in her mind broke through, wreaking havoc on her mental and emotional wellbeing.
She buried her face in her hands as the tears sprung free and drowned her in her own sorrows. She felt Brandon's arms wrap around her and pull her into his chest. She nuzzled herself as closely into him as she could, letting his slow, steady breaths calm her. He stroked her hair – her tornado hair – and kissed the top of her head and then, once she'd stopped crying, pulled away just enough to get her hair out of his face and ask what was wrong. There was no use in withholding information from him; this was Brandon for fuck's sake. He was the man she was going to marry (well, not officially, but she knew she would), so she told him everything, right down to her uncooperative hair.
"Give me the brush" Brandon said, holding his hand out palm up. Stella pulled away from him and cocked her eyebrow. His hair looked perfect – as always – what could he possibly need her brush for? "I can't do much about Cassandra or your parents and the people of Solaria, but I want to help however I can. So, give me the brush, I'll fix your hair."
