After what felt like an eternity spent in the confines of my room, with maids buzzing around me and the unmistakable smell of new fabrics filling the air, I finally had my wig.
The thick, deep black strands cascaded over my shoulders, the fabric smooth and unnatural against my skin. My fingers fluttered through it nervously.
(That felt like an eternity.)
I was finally free to leave the room, and with a sharp breath, I quickly adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the wig. It was supposed to mimic Scarlet's natural blue hair, but the system had evidently not been given the proper time to replicate the intricate colors of blue and black into a wig that would suit the character of "Scarlet."
So, instead of a subtle bluish tint, I was left with this: a plain black wig that hung heavily from my scalp, completely devoid of the color that had made Scarlet stand out so sharply from the others in this novel.
I cursed softly to myself. "Thanks, bish."
