A tense atmosphere hung over me as I sat restrained in the chair, a white cloth draped snugly around my neck. A woman holding a pair of scissors approached with a bright, practiced smile.
For a split second, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind.
Is this the kind of smile an executioner wears before beheading a convict?
I was genuinely scared.
"Sister… why was I brought here?" I asked cautiously.
She laughed lightly. "Your hair's too long and messy. It's time to take care of it."
Ah.
Right.
This was a hair salon.
I relaxed a little, though not completely. My hair had grown longer than when I first possessed this body, and it was starting to get in the way. Still, I'd grown oddly attached to it. Long hair felt… like part of who I was now. The idea of cutting it made me a little reluctant.
"Ah, please keep the length," a familiar voice said beside me. "My brother looks better with long hair than short hair."
