Page 24 of Wicked Flavors

What the…

Sitting up, Gwendolyn reached up again. Instead of yanking as she had before, she slowly gathered the doll hair and followed the strand down. Gwendolyn saw the pink—though it was fuzzy so close to her eye—and she delicately pulled again. Her eyes widened as she felt the hair pull at her scalp and she dropped her hand again.

Apprehensively, Gwendolyn slowly lowered her gaze toward her lap. It was impossible for her eyes to grow any wider as she stared in shock at the clumps of dusty rose pink doll hair in her lap. Her hands grew clammy as she helplessly touched the doll hair. Only, Gwendolyn realized it couldn’t be doll hair. There was too much, it was toolong,and more importantly, it felthuman.Gwendolyn hada small supply of human hair made for dolls. It was ideal for creating unique hairstyles but—

She remembered now that she had left her hair down last night instead of a messy bun. Gwendolyn reached up, hands shaking as she touched the hair on her head. What Gwendolyn felt was a mess. A good portion of it was missing, save for one section along her back. The rest was all jagged edges and rough cuts and—

Gwendolyn darted from the chair. She didn’t stop until she came face to face with her own reflection in her bathroom, wincing on the way in after she slammed her pinkie toe in the door frame. Her stomach dropped as she stared open-mouthed at the mirror.

Her hair … her hair was … Gwendolyn swallowed hard, hands reaching up to touch her hair. Despite her hopes, the dusty rose pink color was in factherhair. Not a wig, not some of the dolls hair that had transferred and clung to her hair. No, this washerhair.

A sound escaped her open mouth. It sounded a lot like the exhale of a dying goose as Gwendolyn started frantically running her hands through her hair. It wasn’t enough that it was such an attention grabbing color. No, it was also completelyfucked.The longest piece was at the back, cut only between her shoulders. The shortest side—outside of her brand-newbangs—was on the right side of her face.

“Mother fucker!” she cried in outrage.

Gwendolyn knew she would have to cut the rest of her hair at that length. If only to make some sense of whatever was happening with her hair. She felt sick, shaking as her fingers continued to run through her hair.

How the fuck did this happen? Why did this happen?

Thoughts scrambled in her head like eggs in a frying pan, but she couldn’t hold still long enough to stop them.Gwendolyn opened the top drawer of her bathroom sink and retrieved a pair of scissors. If she couldn’t think, Gwendolyn would act. She only used the scissors she kept in the bathroom to trim the split ends, since her last hair stylist had moved. Gwendolyn didn’t want a new one, she liked her old stylist just fine. That was over seven years ago, and now Gwendolyn was dividing her hair to do a home cut on the fly.

I have to go OUTSIDE like this! What are people going to think? What’s my work going to think?!

Gwendolyn sincerely doubted her conservative employers would appreciate her new hair. Although, even in the chaos of cutting the longer strands, a small part of Gwendolyn was shamefully delighted. She loved pink. She had always loved it, but pink was a color associated with shame. A color that boys had teased her for, and even some girls. Gwendolyn had dolls that were pink, had a few mugs with small hints of pink, but Gwendolyn didn’twearpink.

“Okay, okay, okay…” she murmured to herself.

She felt way too hot. Sweat had broken out along her back, her armpits drenched as she continued to carefully cut the jagged pieces of hair into something that resembled a normal haircut. By the time her hair was mostly the same length, Gwendolyn didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. She had to layer it a bit, but overall, it was a sharply shaped bob. The natural waves, gave it a bit of volume and her bangs were just above her eyebrows—fuck.Even hereyebrowswere pink! She had to do a double take to make sure her eyelashes weren’t pink, and she felt momentary relief that they weren’t.

“Oh, no…” Gwendolyn murmured, apprehension raising as she stared at the area where her mound was under her shirt.

I swear to fucking hell, if this is some magical anime girl bullshit, I will destroy my apartment!

Gwendolyn pulled her underwear away and sighed in relief. Same black, wiry hair. A win for her, she supposed. Wait, what was she doing? She shook her head, dropping her shirt to look at herself in the mirror again.

“Your hair is pink,” Gwendolyn told herself in the mirror. “It’s pink, and you have no fucking idea how—wait!”

The doll.

Its hair had fallen off—itsdusty rose pinkhair had fallen off when Gwendolyn had picked it up. Memories replayed all the weird things that had started ever since bringing the doll home from that antique store and—

But I can guarantee that if you were to take this doll home, it will change your life…

Gwendolyn stared at her own amber eyes for a long moment. When the blue backed spider crept along the mirror, only one thought crossed her mind.

You liar.

11

Irritated

Gwendol...y...

Gwendolyn showered.

She dried her hair, if only to keep the now-short, wet locks from brushing her neck. Gwendolynhatedthat feeling. Almost as much as she hated how much lighter her head felt without her long hair. But the last thing Gwendolyn wanted to do wasthankthe antique dealer.

Gwendolyn ripped her closet open, pulled on some under garments, and grabbed the easiest outfit she could find. A pair of black leggings and a baggy gray sweatshirt. The workout outfit had been something Gwen had snagged when she had turned thirty. Back then she was determined to be strong and fit. Gwendolyn was still soft, with slightly bigger hips than she had when she bought those leggings.

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