As you calmly strolled out of the hair salon, you felt content with your new coiffure. You felt content with your new female self. You stopped next to a nearby storefront and took a moment to admire your reflection.
You marveled at the chestnut-brown ringlets that spooled out of your scalp and fell all the way down to your knees. Your curls were perfect, and not a single strand was out of place or frizzed up. You were so proud of your hair. It felt like it meant something. It felt that that you cared about your appearance and that you wanted to present your best self to everyone that you met. You took another moment to study your brunette tresses and you allowed the faint hint of a smile to tug at the corner of your lips. Goodness gracious, your hair was so dreamy.
You marveled at your pale, sheltered complexion and doe-shaped hazel eyes. Your little button nose had just the right amount of upturn and imbued your appearance with what could only be called maiden-like innocence. You were so pretty!
You wanted to move closer to the storefront's window to study yourself further, but you snapped back to reality when a man passed by in front of you. You felt startled, and a faint blush rose to your cheeks. Suddenly, it felt like two things had just been made very clear to you.
1. You had forgotten that you were only 5'3 now, and you almost swooned at how much taller that stranger was.
2. It had just occurred to you that gawking at yourself in public wasn't very proper behavior.
Suddenly feeling chastened, you decided to keep walking. Where you were going you weren't quite sure, but the embarrassment you felt compelled you to go anywhere but here.
You went a bit faster than before, and the increased urgency in your pace caused your heavy hair to make correspondingly larger swishes and bounces as you walked. The visceral sensation of your brunette, godiva-esque hair swaying to and fro had a calming effect on you.
Step, swish.
Step, bounce.
Step, swish.
Step, bounce.
Ad infinitum.
You found yourself mentally drifting off again, and only snapped back to reality when you passed by a bookstore. You came to a quick halt, and your chestnut-brown tresses flapped in response before settling down. Not a hair out of place, naturally. You crane your slender neck upwards and gaze at the store's sign. Farms & Aristocrats.
As you placed your hands behind your back and idly twisted your right heel back and forth, you debated entering the bookstore. Didn't you want to explore the rest of this mall? You had just been turned into a girl, it was a safe bet that you barely scratched the surface of the iceberg here. Magical marvels were waiting to be discovered, and you seriously wanted to spend a chunk of your day here?
Yet despite your best efforts, the store drew you in. You haven't read a good book in a while, have you? And even if you have, there's no doubt that you've been reading less and less with passing each year. Something about the mental picture of holding a book in your hands brought a smile to your face. Your urge to read at an all-time high, you stepped inside.
You inhaled, and let current of excitement rush over you, despite yourself. You scanned the aisles, and spotted your usual haunt: genre fiction. You maneuvered past a throng of teens and nerds with feminine grace, making sure no one ever brushed against your perfect curls. Your fingers ran across the spines of myriad fantasy novels, and pulled out one of your favorites. The Lord Of The Crowns , my oh my, it had been a hot minute since you read that one.
You drifted towards a chair inside the store and sat down, careful not to sit on your hair or damage it by pressing your locks against a chair. You lifted the book up to your eyes and started to scan the pages. You waited for that magical moment where the literature would draw you in. Draw you into another world that you could get lost in for hours.
Only, that moment never came. You flipped through the pages more quickly now, and the slightest of frowns crossed your face. This literature...was a bit silly. Whatever love you may have felt for the book, it no longer had that special hold over you.
You quickly rose out of your seat and returned the tome back to its proper place. Once again, you scanned the fantasy section for anything that could possibly interest you. You never did find anything of note.
Wrinkling your precious nose in irritation, you went over to the science fiction section. Cyberpunk novels, soft scifi, none of it was doing anything for you. Even the Basis Trilogy felt distant and alien to you.
You inhaled sharply and did your best to remain calm. You weren't going to lose hope. Something here would catch your interest. You ignored the furtive gazes of the other customers inside the bookstore, and went to the classical literature section.
As if by instinct, your doe-shaped, hazel eyes were drawn to a very certain book. Moving past The Divine Comedy , you plucked another book off the shelf: Jane Eyre . Wait, Jane Eyre ? Didn't you hate this kind of softball, women's studies sort of nonsense? And yet, as you scanned the bookshelf of classical novels, you couldn't draw your eyes away from titles written by 19th century women. Particularly 19th century Englishwomen.
Why had you scorned these books before? Had you scorned these books before? You suddenly weren't so sure. A part of you swore that you read Wuthering Heights over and over again, and that was just one title out of dozens of others. In contrast, those science-fiction and fantasy novels felt so trite and immature.
As you mentally debated your literary preferences with yourself, a voice called out to you. You almost gave a startled, frightful jump at the noise, but you composed yourself just in time. You turned around to see just who was addressing you, and raised an incredulous eyebrow at the woman standing before you.
Black hair done up in a large sockbun with silver-tinged bangs. Smartly-dressed and in pumps. Hungry green eyes hidden behind cat eye glasses. There was no mistaking this woman, it was your old English professor: Jeanette Devereux.
You had taken her for your one single mandatory English credit, and you were glad that was all you needed. She was a harsh instructor, and you could've sworn she had it out for you. For men in general. You distinctly remembered busting your ass reading books that you hated and long nights spent writing last-minute essays in the college library. You spent a lot of money on foul-tasting energy drinks that term.
Only, where once she would've greeted you with pursed lips and a thin smile, she now seemed genuinely happy to see you. "Oh, I didn't expect to see you here! Doing some last-minute reading again?" She said with a knowing smile. "Keep it up and you're going to force my hand! I'll have no choice but to reserve a special spot in my senior seminar class for you."
You smiled back at Professor Devereaux before turning your gaze deferentially downwards. A part of you would like that very much. You were a lit major, weren't you? You could've sworn that you were one. It felt right for a proper young woman such as yourself to devote herself to the humanities.
Your professor continued to speak to you in her dreamy Received Pronunciation accent, and you hung onto her every word like some starstruck pupil. Hugging your book to your chest, you were only snapped back to reality when Professor Devereaux asked you a question.
"I just remembered something. I'll be moving up the date for the Brontė Sisters study group to this weekend. Do I have your utmost promise that you'll be there?"
This weekend. Wasn't there something you were supposed to do this weekend? You scoured your mind, and your innocent doe-eyes widened. A costume party! There was supposed to be a costume party this weekend. That's why you had gotten this schoolgirl costume in the first place! But the more you thought about it, the more appealing the thought of sitting down with your study group became. Drinking tea and munching on scones. Indulging in deep literary analysis and socio-political contexts. So much better than drinking beer and puking on yourself.
You inhaled sharply, and then smiled at Professor Devereaux. Were you losing yourself? Was it too late to pull back and get your costume and hair changed? Or perhaps it would be best for now if you just went with the flow and agreed with her? Regardless of how you felt, you had do something. You had to make a decision.