Lyla mulled over her words, remembering how she'd felt different after she had cut her own hair. There was a certain truth to what she was saying.
Silence descended. Lyla sat quietly, and Zephyr worked, one section after the other, cutting and pulling, never asking her once why her hair was cut so badly, never commenting about anything related to it.
Finally, after a few minutes, she brushed the fallen pieces off her shoulders and plugged in a hairdryer in the socket. The loud noise of the dryer made her wince, and she sat still as Zephyr ran her fingers through her hair, turning it this way and that way under the focused blast of air, drying and framing it. Lyla kept her eyes closed to avoid the air in her eyes, letting herself enjoy the sensation of fingers over her scalp and strands.
The dryer turned off, and the noise cut off suddenly.
"So, do you like it?" Zephyr's voice came from behind her, her hands on her shoulders.
Lyla held her breath, her heart beating fast with fear for some reason.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, facing her reflection in the mirror.
She looked… different. Her red strands fell around her shoulders in a straight line, the length a little longer than she'd been expecting, wisps of shorter strands framing her face in a way that made her cheekbones look more prominent, her eyes sharper, her chin softer. She was amazed at the difference something like a haircut could make to her appearance and, moreover, to her insides. She looked like a woman who knew what she wanted, a woman who was poised, elegant, and more fitting into the circle she had been a part of.
Her eyes moved up to Zephyr's, conveying everything she couldn't put into words—a family problem she was coming to realize, a trait she shared with her brother. "Thank you."
The other woman squeezed her shoulders, giving her a wide smile. "Anytime."
Lyla's eyes moved back to her face, a smile coming over her lips as she imagined Dainn's reaction to seeing her like this. He had taken her out with his arm around her while being Mr. Blackthorne, and she'd always felt like the shoes she was filling out in society with him might not fit her. For the first time, looking at herself and feeling the surge of surety inside her, she felt like she could be Mrs. Blackthorne. Appearances had never mattered to her, her own beauty weaponized against her all her life by others. This wasn't about external beauty, though. This was about inner confidence.
And though she wasn't fully there yet, it felt like a big step in the right direction.