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Lynette’s hair had gotten long.
Before Father had taken her and Lyney in, she didn’t care much for her hair. It had just barely brushed past her shoulders. She made sure it wasn’t too tangled when she and her brother were performing, and that was about it. The hair itself had been a bit thin and quite frizzy, her body not having any extra nutrients to spare for its maintenance.
Nowadays that her belly was full with three warm meals a day — plus a few helpings of dessert, her hair had begun to grow at a rapid speed; finally having what it needed to nourish it, the thick, blonde locks now extended down her back, almost reaching her waist. She never learned how to maintain it before, other than roughly trimming her bangs every few months to keep it from obscuring her vision.
Now, it was a pain to deal with. No one had ever taught her how to, and she had to make herself presentable. They were hosting a guest tonight, and hosts needed to present themselves in a tidy way.
Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes as she attempted to drag a comb roughly through her tangled hair. Normally, she just left it as it is, not caring much for the messiness, but now, it actually mattered, and she didn’t wish to embarrass Father in front of her guest. She had half a mind to march over to Lyney’s room and ask for him to braid her hair when a knock on the door sounded.
It was coming from much too high on the door for it to be Lyney or Freminet, and it was more assertive and firm than that of any of the staff.
“Come in!” She called, wiping her tears away quickly — though she could do nothing about her bloodshot eyes and sniffling nose.
“My, dear. Are those tears I see?”
Arlecchino stood at the door forebodingly.
“I’m sorry, Father…” Lynette began, trying to keep her voice from wobbling.
Arlecchino tutted as she approached, “Crying solves next to nothing, Lynette. Tell me the issue so we can address it.”
Lynette sniffled. “F-father, I don’t know how to fix my hair. If I can’t make myself presentable, I’ll make a bad impression on your guest, and she’ll think poorly of you in turn.”
Lynette stared at her reflection in the mirror, then her gaze shifted to Arlecchino’s. She was not as familiar with their Father as Lyney and Freminet were, and so she wasn’t quite sure in the ways in which she was meant to act. All she knew was that Arlecchino held an authoritative presence in her life, and, from her experience, authority was something to be feared.
But then again, Arlecchino had given her a proper home, not like that noble had done. She had provided safety, and she wanted for nothing with the House of the Hearth.
Her train of thought was cut short when she felt a hand atop her head, patting it almost… awkwardly?
“My guest would not put her entire judgment on me based on the appearance of one child. Trust me, she knows me far better than to do that."
As she spoke, her fingers ran through Lynette’s hair, carefully smoothing out the looser knots. She opened a drawer on the small vanity and retrieved a comb. She began to brush out Lynette’s hair, starting from the bottom and working her way up. It was much gentler than what Lynette had been doing earlier. She mentally took note of her method for future reference.
As Arlecchino brushed, Lynette focused on her face in her reflection. She was young. Much younger than any parent she had ever seen before. Her face was free from any wrinkles or fine lines so common in those with children, but she had the air of someone who had lived for many decades. Her real age remained a mystery to Lynette.
Freminet had told her that she had been a child at the Hearth before replacing the old Father, so she must be only about a decade older than Lynette herself. She found it hard to believe him. Looking at her now, that was not the face of someone in their late teens or early twenties. But Lynette was no stranger to having to grow up too quickly.
Once again, Lynette was brought back from her own thoughts, this time by the sound of Arlecchino putting the comb down.
“Do you want me to put it in… a style?”
There it was again. That… awkwardness . It was gone just as soon as it had appeared, replaced by stern aloofness all too quickly. But Lynette, ever perceptive with people as she was, caught it.
Arlecchino was unsure . She did not know how to style hair.
For the nth time, Lynette gazed at her Father’s reflection.
Father was the picture of regalness and elegance; a figure to be respected and feared. A person of high value and status. Her appearance reflected that. She never had a single wrinkle on her clothes nor a stray hair hanging loose. Her salt-and-pepper locks were tied expertly and clasped back out of the way and behind her neck as it was every day. She had clearly mastered the simple yet refined style. Lynette had never seen her do it any differently.
And how she was looking at her expectantly.
“Like yours.”
Arlecchino almost seemed surprised. Almost. But nothing could ever really catch Father off guard, right?
Instead of saying anything, Arlecchino just picked up the comb again and gathered Lynette’s hair into a ponytail, leaving some strands at the front to frame her face. She tied it off with a bow, though if it was the slightest bit lopsided, Lynette said nothing.
“These front pieces are getting quite long. It’s not very practical to have them impair your vision. Would you like for me to trim them?”
Lynette nodded. Perhaps others would be nervous to let someone inexperienced cut their hair, but surely it could not be worse than what she had been doing herself for many years now.
Arlecchino opened another drawer, revealing the craft set Lynette had been gifted for her most recent birthday. She took the scissors — blunt as to ensure no child could hurt themself on accident, and very carefully and precisely trimmed the front of Lynette’s hair, then disposed of the loose hair in a nearby bin. It only took her a few minutes before she stepped away, allowing Lynette to view the results.
They were much more even than Lynette had ever done for herself. They were nice, actually. Though now that Lynette was thinking about it, they made her resemble Arlecchino quite a bit down to the way they were parted. Though there was some difference in colour, she could pass as Arlecchino’s actual daughter.
“Come on, now. We must get going. I would hate to make my… guest wait. She has quite the temperament.”
Arlecchino turned to leave, and Lynette scurried after her, dusting off her skirt and making sure no loose hair was left on her dress.
On their way, Lyney and Freminet joined them.
Lyney whispered into her ear.
“I heard from the older kids the Damselette is visiting. Rumour has it that Father is courting her!”
“Gossiping does you no good.” Lynette reprimanded, but she listened just as intently for the rest of the information Lyney relayed.
“They say she always brings candy for us and sings real’ pretty. Plus, she puts Father in a good mood, so maybe she’ll look the other way when you push your peas to the end of the plate.”
A glare from Arlecchino silenced him quickly.
Little Freminet shyly tugged on her sleeve, drawing her attention from Lyney and to him.
“You look pretty.” He said, averting his gaze. Lynette gave a small smile.
“Thank you, Freminet.”
“You… match with Father.”
Lynette nodded, glancing at Arlecchino from the corner of her eye to see if she had heard. Though the Knave did not meet her gaze, Lynette knew she was listening. Arlecchino turned her head away, and Lynette could not tell if she was cross or embarrassed.
She did not think about it much longer, because they arrived at the parlour where their guest was waiting, humming pleasantly to the children who had snuck in early.
Lynette now had more pressing priorities. Namely, nabbing a few of those bonbons the Damselette was handing out.