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A canvas, or . . .
It was that time of day when the sky was still covered in darkness.
She moved unsteadily out of her bed and stood upright beside the window, resting her arms on the windowsill. The stars quietly listen in the night as the crescent moon was hanging low on the western horizon. The dawn came with a mellifluous silence, her soul was hearing a melody that her ears could not.
Shadows on the walls, ominously dancing in the dark. The tree branches twisted like contorted bones, writhing in silent screams. She wasn't bothered by the sinister whisper of the wind. All she could do was to listen until she transversed in this haunting atmosphere.
After perceiving the hazy dawn, she headed to her bathroom and got on her own feet in front of a mirror. On the lavatory slab, there was her father's kunai. Even the stuff she needed for her new day.
Her eyes mutely watch the mirror. It was her, but she wasn't really her. Her cyan-blue orbs were narrowed sharply, no warmth was seen while judging the reflection standing in front of her.
Then, she only sighed, picking up the three-bladed kunai. Grabbing a bunch of her red hair; and within one of her hands, it raised the steel kunai to the base of her neck.
Her hair, which she had been growing out most of her life, needed a change. It had been with her for as long as she was concerned. Her scarlet hair had always been her identity, but now was the time to hide her horrid past.
Cutting her hair didn't mean that she would forget, because it was the sole reminder of what her life used to be.
Only for a while . . . she would submit to the elders' decision. But once the right time would come, she swore that she would rise again and remind everyone of her existence.
That was the last thing she could do to honor her real identity.
It took her quite a while to saw her hair off—strand by strand. It didn't matter what shaping remained, but it got shorter and shorter, though no less uneven.
Deep inside her, the haircut was an act of defiance against her parents' will. She had her long wavy, crimson hair cut into a layered bob haircut. She lightly smirked seeing her severed bloody-red locks laid on the white tile floor. Now she had done it, murdering a part of herself.
Soon, she mixed the hair-coloring products in a bowl. She then brushed her hair with a dye, leaving no speck of the crimson color.
The little girl waited for at least an hour before taking a bath. As she rinsed it, she dried her hair. She used vibrant black hair color, having the effect of making her look quite menacing. Perfect wavy curls piled on her head with a few soft locks on her face.
She looked good than what she had expected, but she wasn't enthusiastic, either. As a matter of fact, she hated what she was seeing in front of the mirror.
