Shattered glass shot out from where the bottle hit the wall, cutting into Mao’s cheek and raining down around her feet in an explosion of booze. Her shoulders raised, tense as she flinched back from the sound. Yet she dared not move.

  “Who told you that you could cut your hair!” Her father’s voice roared drunkenly from in front of the fireplace. It was lit, for once, but its warmth brought no comfort.

  Mistress Landragon had arrived that morning to make a delivery - her shoes. While she had been there she had cut Mao’s long hair, marveling as the black strands turned pink wherever the scissors touched.

  “We could not…Get the knots out effectively.” Mao whispered the words. When she saw the hair, dusting the tops of her shoulders, it had thrilled her. Now she wanted the ground to swallow her hole and hide her from her father’s wrath.

  “That hair…That is the hair of a harlot.” Kumori snarled the words, pacing back and forth like a caged beast. “How dare she. And you,” He pointed a bony finger at her, “You know better.”

  “You never said I could not cut my hair.”

  “Oh, I didn’t?” Rounding on her, he came towards Mao, clearing the space in three steps. “I am now.”

  Mao looked up at him, flinching at the rage in his eyes. She hesitated, but pushed on. “It will grow back. I want to go…Please Father.”

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  Her heart thudded in her chest, marking every painful second that he just stared at her. The world felt as if everything hung on his next words.

  “Fine. But you will remain cloaked.”

  That felt like a gut punch as well, but if she were cloaked, he would not notice the other gown. Mistress Landragon had presented him with a simple cut gown in a pale color that hung over her as if it were hiding her. He had approved, and never questioned why the box it came in was so big.

  Mao had thought about how she would wear the second one, and now her father had given her an excuse. It was almost too good to be true. Still, she would not look a gift horse in the mouth and instead darted upstairs to her room.

  “You better be presentable within the hour!” Her father’s voice hollered after her. Knowing him, she would have two hours to get ready. That wasn’t a lot of time, but thankfully Mistress Landragon had taken the time to teach her how to do her hair.

  Mao moved quickly and quietly, discarding her torn clothes and pulling a basin with water from the corner. She bathed like this often, and she could just see the horror on Mistress Landragon’s face. But there was no helping it.

  The cold water splashing onto her body sent shivers through her skinny frame, and she had to steel herself against whining. A little cold wouldn’t kill her, even if it was unpleasant.

  When she had finished washing, saving her hair for last, she didn’t bother with a towel. Instead she stepped into the middle of her room, closed her eyes and murmured softly as she held her arms out and to the side. The air around her crackled with magic, a green, sharp mess that danced around her skin and popped to warm the immediate area.

  Relief flooded her as she felt her body dry and warm up. Magic was not her strong suit, but this was her favorite spell. With a heavy sigh of surprising contentment, she started getting dressed.

  As she opened the box and looked down at the gown within, her mind screamed once, don’t do it. But Mao shoved that feeling down.

  Tonight, she would wear what she wanted.