As you gaze upon your brand-new, chin-length hairstyle, you run a slender hand through the silky curtains and ponder what to do next. You ponder for a while, and then ponder some more. The quiet in the salon makes you feel a touch uneasy, but the hairdresser puts her hands on her lap and waits with the utmost patience.
Mere hours ago, you would've never imagined yourself in this predicament, in this situation. And now the hairdresser with an understanding smile on her face had given you carte blanche for any hairstyle! It all sounded like complete nonsense, but your recently-lengthened hair spoke for itself. Months of hair growth in mere moments.
You inhale with excitement, heart fluttering with anticipation as you mumble out a response. "I do want to go longer."
"I knew you'd say that," giggled the hairdresser as she leaned on one of your salon chair's arms. "Did you have anything specific in mind?
You shook your head, and you could feel your fluffy chin-length bangs brush against your cheeks. "No. I just want to look nice, y'know?"
"That can be arranged," said the hairdresser as she looked at you with an expression that was half-motherly, and half-artist looking at a blank canvas. "Do you mind if I go with what I think would look best on you?"
"I don't mind," you say with a nervous smile. You didn't have an inkling of how magic worked, but you could almost feel it in the air. It felt like power, like something wonderful was about to happen in this salon.
The hairdresser gave you another enchanting smile, and you knew that you were in good hands. She reached into a drawer near the counter and produced a brush. And what a brush it was! Silver with long, ivory teeth. You had never seen such a fancy brush before. Wrought designs of silver leaves and flowers woven around the handle and the back of the brush. It was workmanship that only an accomplished silversmith was capable of.
Seated in front of a salon mirror, it was easy to keep your eyes on the brush at all times. The hairdresser twirled the brush in her hand, and carried it like one would a wand. You felt a sense of anticipation as the brush came closer and closer to your chin-length hair. The hairdresser put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and then went to work.
Starting at the roots of your fluffy new hairdo, the hairdresser gently worked the brush down to the tips of your chin-length hair. Your neck-length hair. In mere moments your hair had already lengthened a couple of inches. Your hair looked thicker, too. It was like the ivory teeth of the hairdresser's brush coaxed new strands of hair into existence. With the relatively short length of your hair, the extra thickness made your hair look a little poofy.
"Don't worry, it'll look better soon," said the hairdresser in a reassuring tone as she continued to brush your hair.
She was right. After a few more tugs of the brush through your shoulder-length hair, it was already looking better. Neater. She slowly brushed out the "little bit of wave" that you had asked for earlier, leaving your hair pin-straight.
Your hair hadn't lost any body despite the loss of waves, however. Your hair was rich and full. More voluminous than ever before, actually. Your shoulder-blade-length hair was so thick it flowed in front of and behind your shoulders. You had never felt so pretty before in your life. Thinking that your coiffure was finished, you started to thank the hairdresser for your new hairstyle and leave, but she gently shushed you and kept you seated with the utmost finesse.
The hairdresser continued to tug the silver brush downwards through your hair at a measured rate. Each pass of the brush through your mane left it longer and heavier than before. Your fabulous, feminine locks flowed down elegantly to the middle of your back, and showed no signs of slowing down. Instead of pouting or complaining to the hairdresser, you smile at your reflection instead. You felt nonplussed. And why shouldn't you? You did ask for longer hair, after all. This situation of yours: becoming a girl at a mall with lengthening tresses - was feeling increasingly right. Perhaps how things should have been all along.
It was so easy to look at your brand-new female self. To take yourself in. To marvel at your feminine beauty. It felt satisfying to look at this new you, and combined with the hairdresser's steady brushing, you felt relaxed enough to fall asleep in your chair. And so you did. With an outstretched hand resting on the arm of your salon chair, you leaned your head forward and fell asleep in your hand. Your bangs fell across your face like a silk veil, obfuscating your eyes from the salon's harsh LED lighting.
You slept adorably, with a dreamy smile on your face. In your deep repose, your chest barely moved. It also went without saying that your new, female self slept without snoring, or even making a single noise. Eventually, after an indeterminate amount of time, you finally stirred. Waking up and fluttering your feminine lashes, you looked up at the hairstylist with an innocent expression on your face, before gazing your reflection.
Your heart skipped a beat at what you saw, but your surprise scarcely registered on your face. Your appearance had been drastically altered as you slept, but the more that you looked at your new reflection, the more you liked what you saw. Your waist-length hair was brown now. And no, it wasn't that banal dark-brown hue that looked practically black unless it was under direct light. Nor was it a light brown color that looked mousy and sickly. Nor was it even a golden-brown shade with little blonde highlights. No, you had perfect chestnut-brown hair now.
As you studied yourself, the hairdresser was still hard at work. Determined to give you a new hairstyle that was pleasing to the eyes, and as far a cry from your old look as possible.
With brush in hand, the hairdresser made circular motions around your Rapunzel-like, thigh-length tresses. Dividing the hair flowing behind the salon chair and almost onto the floor into nine different sections. Another flick of her wrist, and the nine sections of thick brunette hair began to twist and coil. Without heat and without chemicals, the hairdresser styled your hair into a coiffure that was halfway between Victorian ringlets, and halfway between anime drill hair.
Each coiled brunette tube was dense and lush. Perfectly styled without any frizz or breakage, each tip terminating in a swirl that was reminiscent of a cinnamon roll or a swiss roll. Each ringlet had a massive circumference of 12 inches - or in other words, a circumference the size of a softball.
You wanted to gasp in amazement. You wanted to reach out and touch your new brunette ringlets. But that would be improper. Unmannered. With your refined appearance, such behavior just felt inappropriate. Instead, a demure smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you studied your appearance further. It seemed that ringlets weren't the only thing that had changed.
Your complexion was fair now. Exceedingly so. The kind of paleness that is nurtured and protected with parasols to shield one's self from the rays of the sun, and with minimal exposure to the outdoors. There wasn't a single freckle or mark on your face. Not even on your delicate button nose that was slightly upturned to enhance your cuteness.
The hairdresser's hand drifted to your bangs, and she brushed them out of your doe-shaped eyes. Eyes that were framed with dark lashes that tastefully drew attention to them . Exposing their sweet hazel color, brimming with inherent elegance and intelligence, but also innocence. In mere moments and a few more touches, the hairdresser had styled your bangs into a ruler-straight V-shape. The tip of your bangs were long enough brush against the bridge of your nose. Once again, you bury the urge to touch your hair. You wouldn't want to ruin your new look, now would you?
"So, do you like it?" Asked the hairdresser with poorly-concealed excitement.
Her words felt like they came from miles away. You grip the arms of the salon chair and hoist yourself up, brunette ringlets swishing and bouncing as you do. You almost swoon as you get up, not quite used to the weight of your hair just yet. You blink, and steady yourself. A few more moments standing up, and carrying this coiffure would be like second nature to you. You blink at the hairdresser slowly before responding. Like you had just woken up from a dream.
"Yes, certainly. I am ever-so thankful for your services, Ma'am," you said in a soft, gentle voice.
You bowed your head in thanks, and your Godiva-esque tresses came close to brushing against the floor. Without saying another word, you head towards the exit in a far more refined, feminine gait. Your chestnut ringlets swished and bounced behind you with each dainty step you took, looking like elegance made manifest.