"Every step you take reeks of conceit."
A Gumiho - better known as a nine-tailed fox - is a legendary creature of Korean origin, well known for its folktales riddled with charms of deceit and lies. But that's not the only thing it is famous for.
Thi...
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Chapter Eight
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"WHAT'S the name of that ghost lady in Harry Potter?" My manager asked, out of the blue.
I stared at her reflection in the mirror before me. Of all the ways to strike a conversation in a salon, she picked possibly the most random one. Sometimes I wondered whether everything was alright in that unnaturally smooth head of hers.
The back of my neck was subjected to an ever-constant feeling of dampness while occasional drafts (from the cooling vents on the floor) kept striking it when I least expected it. This clearly wasn't my favourite part of getting my hair done, which was currently covered in strips of foil that safeguarded the dye beneath them. My agency suggested a ring of change for the next photoshoot and it took little convincing to get me on board. This particular shade made me look absolutely stunning and it had been a while since I last dyed my hair. Since all expenses were paid for, who was I to skip out on such a perk?
They hadn't revealed the brand that I was supposed to be endorsing as it was still in the talks. That didn't matter too much to me.
Maybe this change in hair color might work in my favor. Which it anyways would; I could pull off a trashbag-green color better than the bag itself.
"If I'm not wrong, it was the Grey Lady," I answered.
I smiled as I recalled a sixty-nine year old Jihoon dragging me to the theatre in the early hours of noon so we could catch the first show of the final movie of that dratted series. And with that, a decade-long tradition had come to an end. After that, seldom had I seen Jihoon seeking solace in those books. Maybe the disappointment that the movie incurred was something that still pricked him.
"Ah, yes. You looked exactly like her when we left your house."
"Whatever do you mean? If you mean as elegant as her-"
"No, you looked as grey as her. If you don't believe me, look in the mirror; it isn't as clear as it was then, though."
Slightly aghast at her impertinence, I paid proper attention to my face. I was horrified to discover a grave pallor on my skin - which was less noticeable only because of my hair. However, had it been devoid of those eccentricities and exactly like I had looked to my manager, one would've thought that I hadn't eaten for days.
Technically, that was true.
I tried to visualize myself as a brunette. Well, I did look good, even if it was my imagination. I snapped my eyes open.
I stared hard at myself and then at my manager who was immersed in her phone. I looked back at my reflection and then at hers. I kept at this exercise for about a minute before I spoke up:
"Do you really think I'd look good in brown? Would it hide my greyish tinge?"
She gave it a thought, looking serious. Finally, she carefully said:
