001: THE PASSIONATE MORNING MOANING

CANTO 1: THE WAR ON MY HEAD

TALE I: THE SPARK OF CURIOSITY

CANTO 1: THE WAR ON MY HEAD

My hair had been at war with me for weeks wild, tangled, impossible. I had finally drawn a line: this weekend, I am not leaving the house looking like this.

Then town called. Stepping out of the taxi, fate hit me square in the face: a supermarket promotion crates of malt drinks and biscuits stacked high, bright signs screaming 40% OFF. I smiled. Silly, small signs like this always made me feel like maybe something good was about to happen.

I got down early. Bought too much. A crate of cheap malt, shortcake biscuits stacked like a plan. The plastic bags dug into my palms all the way to the salon. I always spent too much when a tiny hope began to grow.

My auntie's salon was a furnace. Hot oil. Hot combs. Hot gossip. The walls buzzed with women's lives, every word loud, sharp, and alive.

You don't need to know who is being discussed, join listen you will find out later.

Miss Pointed Nose ruled the room, slicing through people's mistakes like they were hers to fix. I remembered how to make myself small, nod at the right time, swallow my voice, disappear into the noise.

Then there was Mordie.

She moved through the room like she owned its rhythm without needing to claim it. Not the loudest, not the quietest. Hands always busy. Eyes always watching. Laughing when it fit. Vanishing when she was needed. Steady. Unshakable. When Miss Pointed Nose spoke to her, it was like talking to someone who could never break.

I sat in the chair.

And that was when surrender began.