I expected that I would now be taken to the tent of washing, but the priestess stopped me with one gesture. The servant lifted all my shaven hair from the ground and placed in inside a bowl. Then she poured some perfumed oil over it, lit a stick from one of the oil lamps and set my hair alight.
"By the orders of the divine consort," the priestess said. "No one is to have your hair in order to make it into magical objects. Guards will be nearby at all times to make sure you remain safe."
The Moon Daughter. I could never forget that was what I was, that people really believed my body parts and hair could be used to make magical spells, that they would be willing to kill me simply for my lack of colour.
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