Elara stared at her reflection, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “Just get it back to my natural colour,” she sighed, gesturing at the faded pink mess that was currently her hair.
“No problem, love,” chirped Colin, the hairdresser, brandishing a colour chart like a weapon. “Back to that lovely chestnut brown, eh?”
Two hours, a generous application of dye, a trim, and a bouncy blow-dry later, Elara gasped. Her hair shimmered in the salon mirror, a rich, glossy brown with natural highlights that seemed to catch the light. It was perfect. Better than perfect. It was like she’d stepped back in time.
“Colin, you’re a miracle worker!” Elara beamed, reaching for her purse.
But as she stood up, a strange tingling sensation washed over her scalp. She glanced back at the mirror, her heart plummeting to her stomach. Her hair was pink again. The vibrant, freshly-dyed brown had vanished as if it had never been.
“What the—?” Colin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Did you…did you use some sort of temporary spray or something?”
Elara shook her head, bewildered. “No, I haven’t touched it! I swear!”
Colin, ever the professional, insisted on re-doing the colour. This time, he used a stronger dye, left it in longer, and even added a special sealant ‘just to be sure’. The result was even more spectacular than before. Elara’s hair looked like something out of a shampoo advert.
Yet, the moment she rose from the chair, the magical transformation reversed. Pink. Again.
Panic started to set in. Was she cursed? Was this some bizarre allergic reaction? Colin, equally perplexed, suggested a third attempt, this time with an “ancient family recipe” passed down from his great-grandmother, who, according to Colin, “could make hair stand on end with a flick of her wrist.”
The concoction smelled strongly of herbs and something vaguely reminiscent of burnt toast. But it worked. The colour was stunning, a deep, warm brown with auburn undertones that made Elara’s eyes sparkle.
Holding her breath, Elara slowly got up from the chair. She stared at her reflection, willing the colour to stay. For a glorious minute, it did. Then, strand by agonizing strand, the pink crept back in.
Defeated, Elara slumped back into the chair. Colin, with a defeated sigh, threw his hands up in the air. “Well, love, I’ve officially seen it all. Looks like you’re stuck with the pink.”
Elara, resigned to her fate, trudged out of the salon, a pink-haired enigma. As she walked down the street, she caught her reflection in a shop window. The pink seemed to pulsate with an almost unnatural glow. Suddenly, a voice whispered in her head, a voice that seemed to come from the hair itself. “You cannot change what you are meant to be.”
Elara froze. Was her hair…talking to her? Maybe Colin’s great-grandmother’s concoction was a little stronger than she let on. Or perhaps, Elara thought, with a growing sense of wonder, she was finally embracing the truth. Maybe the pink wasn’t a mistake, but a vibrant, defiant declaration of who she truly was.
With a newfound confidence, Elara tossed her head, her pink hair shimmering in the sunlight. She might not have the brown hair she longed for, but she had something much more unique. She had magic.
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