#still in act 1 and i'm ready to get to the juicy shit already

[soupandsorcery]

out here being feral thinking about io and her hair.

she wakes up on the nautiloid with a long, heavy braid of hair. it falls down past her ass, and there's more piled on top of her head in a bun. it's neat, well maintained, tied off with a ribbon. soaked through with blood, like the rest of her, but clearly well loved. whoever she was before this, she was clearly vain about her hair.

she wears it proudly, washes it thoroughly in streams and ponds. combs it out every night and lets it dry by the fire while she learns about her companions and tries to piece together the scraps she knows about herself.

but then--the urges. the murder. the frantic, hot pulse under her skin that calls for blood, that curls her hands and bids her to rend flesh until it splits and spills. it's a heavy thing she carries, and a part of her knows she once took to this with the same single minded diligence that she applies to the care of her hair. each battle that has her rinsing blood and worse from her curtain of hair makes her stomach churn, and sometimes it feels like she'll never be clean enough. the scent of death and burning clings to the braid she does up every morning, and the ribbon becomes frayed.

when she sees orin for the first time, she knows. she doesn't know, but there's a sickening lurch of realization--recognition. the same braid, adorned with more than a simple ribbon. who had it first, io wonders? maybe she'll never know. but she's done clinging to it like it's the last bit of her identity she has left. because, honestly? she's coming to realize she doesn't want to know anymore. or at least, she doesn't want to be that person anymore.

so she parts with it. does her braid up one last time and then asks astarion to hack it off with his dagger. there's understanding in his eyes, about leaving a blood soaked past behind, and he produces scissors from his pack to neaten the blunted bob she's left with.

"you're lucky everything suits you," he says, lips twisted while he fights a smile.

io's head feels lighter than it has since she can remember. which is not very long, but it's a glorious feeling all the same. she feels the short strands brushing the back of her neck and catches the smile astarion's trying not to show.

if everything suits her, then surely she can find a new path.