Little Red Cape by Tye

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I stroll aimlessly through the forbidden forest, gazing around at the decaying trees as I try to find something to satisfy my cravings. It’s been nearly four full moons since my last meal, and I can feel my stomach beginning to collapse in on itself.

I jump up onto a fallen log and crawl across a black water river, keeping my eyes trained on the water in hopes of finding something — anything. But I don't, and my irritation only grows stronger. Even a newt would be phenomenal right about now...

I jump off the log and shake my fur out, causing fistfuls of the blonde strands to whirl around me in the air — mocking me. I growl.

It's been nearly a year since my last true meal. It was a boy of twelve, dressed in a moss-colored knitted sweater, with the thickest head of blonde hair I've seen in centuries. It flowed freely over his shoulders, practically glowing in the morning sunlight.

He offered me a flower when I approached, a naive smile of crooked teeth on his chubby face. He looked sweet, and he smelled even sweeter.
I swallowed him in one bite, before he could even utter a shriek. The next morning my fur was thicker, stronger, and the blondest it's ever looked.

Now I've got bald patches going up my backside and up my front left, with a few smaller ones polka-dotting the back of my scalp. I look like an escaped house pet suffering from mange rather than one of the biggest, most intimidating, most lethal predators prowling right now.

Then I see it: a flash of red. My head snaps up, my ears twitching as I smell the air. Usually all I smell in these parts are stale wood and the occasional squawking bird or lost fawn, but today? There's a scent.
I inhale deeply and my mouth starts dripping with drool.

At first I just smell pine — not unusual, this God-forsaken forest is full of it. Then I smell the unmistakable scent of smoke, not strong enough to indicate a fire but strong enough that I know it's clinging to someone's skin.

I inhale deeper, closing my eyes as I focus on the third scent; the one buried beneath the other two. It smells delicious, a true mixture of a healthy pumping heart and the sweet, delectable blood that pulses through it.

There's a boy.

I inhale again, and a fourth and final scent appears: the intoxicating, mouth-watering, eyes-glazing scent of untouched hair. I shudder with delight as I envision the thick strands. From the scent, it's definitely a boy with skin as white as snow and hair as thick and rich as what the people call chocolate. It smells absolutely divine!

I edge forward a bit and peek around a tree.

There he is, standing in a patch of violet wildflowers. He's tall with broad shoulders and strong arms, dressed in a pair of overalls layered over a white long sleeve.

The red I saw was his hooded cape, which all but shines vibrantly in the sunlight.

I watch from afar as he picks up a handful of flowers before standing straight and lowering his hood. My eyes grow wide as I watch him reach under and pull his hair out from beneath the cape. He shakes his head and runs a hand through it, pushing it back away from his eyes.

I haven't seen a head of hair like his in so long. It's thick and dark, with dense curls with golden brown tips. The top is just long enough to brush against his sharp cheekbones, while the back has been left long enough to fall in knotted waves to his collarbones.

He tucks a lock of shorter hair behind his left ear before bending to collect a few more flowers, shaking his head as his fringe falls forward back in front of his eyes. He stands up straight and, after shaking it out, tugs his hair up into what humans call a "bun." It looks ridiculous, but it stays in place for the remainder of his time in the meadow.

I smile and lick my muzzle.

Lunch time...

And unlike the little blonde in the heavy knitted sweater, whose beauty and essence barely held me over, this one needs to be dealt with properly. If I want to take full advantage of that delicious, tears-inducing beauty, I'll need a plan.

I back up and sit down, planting my front paws firmly in the dirt.
I close my eyes...

�"RAINER�"

The wind suddenly picks up, causing the meadow of flowers to start their dance of panic. They bend and they twist, their petals coming loose, their stems straining beneath the pressure.

I look up at the sky, my fringe fluttering wildly around my eyes.

Only moments ago it had been the color of a robin's egg.
Now? It's the color of steel, with clouds so thick you'd think the sky itself no longer existed above it.

All around me animals scatter. Squirrels flee, birds take flight, and a nearby family of deer take off at full speed. It's all very unusual. And honestly? It's making my heart race — so hard I can feel it pounding against my ribcage. I've never seen animals act like this, unles...

But then, just as fast as it began... it stopped, and the sky immediately returned to that startling shade of blue.

I adjust my bun and straighten my hood, feeling a bit off-put. Weather phenomena such as that rarely happen, but when they do? It's usually followed up by something pretty sinister...

"Excuse me, young man?" I whirl around, startled. I take a quick step back.

Standing there between two trees, dressed in one of the rattiest, most tattered-looking suits I've ever seen — and none of it matched. His slacks are moss green, the jacket the color of tree fungi, and the button-up the color of aged parchment. He wears a black top hat with a dead feather, though he's barefoot. His nails on his hands and feet are long and sharp and the color of tooth decay.

All the color drains from my face.

He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, revealing a patchwork of blonde hair and pink scalp beneath it.

"Would you happen to know a Madame Perrault?" he asks, hands shaking, voice trembling. I feel my muscles begin to ease.

"That's my grand-mère," I answer, my skin beginning to crawl at him knowing her name...
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"My! I had no idea Madame had grandchildren. She looks too young to have grandbabies your age," I smile politely, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I've never seen this man before in my short twenty years of life. And every last particle in my body is screaming at me one thing: to run.

"Do I know you?" I ask, moving neither closer nor further from the stranger. He laughs a laugh that sounds like anything other than a genuine laugh...

"I'm not at all surprised you don't remember me," he puts the top hat back on and steps forward, extending his arm, "I'm Conàn, your grand-mère's brother."

"I didn't know she had a brother..." I say softly, stepping back to keep the distance between us. Again, he laughs that "laugh," which genuinely doesn't feel or sound like a proper laugh at all.

"We lost touch until recently," he explains. "I'm actually on my way to see her now. First time in — Gods, I don't know! Since she moved here with that man of hers, at least."

"...How'd you find her again?"
He blinks, and smiles a smile that doesn't sit right with me.

"I saw her flier on the bulletin board in town square. The one about her upcoming cook show. I saw her photo and recognized her immediately," he tilts his head and lowers his hand. "You look like her."

"That's what my Dad says..." I cough. "I'm not trying to be rude, but I really oughta be going..."

"You going to Madame's? Wonderful!" he steps forward, "I'll join you! Wouldn't that be such a pleasant surprise?" he asks, his smiling somehow stretching even bigger. I swear the corners are practically touching his lower lids.

"That it would be," I laugh, mentally kicking myself when it comes out shaky, "but I actually have a few packages I have to deliver first," I pat my bookbag, which sits hidden under the cape beneath my arm.

"You a paper boy?"

"No, I'm a messenger boy. It's why I'm collecting these," I hold up the wildflowers still gripped in my right hand, "then I'm heading to grand-mère's."

"Oh, well, don't let me hold you up any longer," he puts the top hat on, "Would you mind pointing an old man in the right direction? I feel my inner compass isn't as good as it once was," again, there's that "laugh"...

"Uh, sure... You just follow the path over there," I gesture towards a dirt path nearby, "Go south till you reach an old scarecrow in green, then you head west. After about... twenty minutes, you'll come upon two huts. Hers is the brown one with the red door."

"Much appreciated. Truly," he startles me when he suddenly strides forward and takes my free hand in his; my eyes widen, "till we meet again," he says, his bright green eyes locked on mine.

He shakes my hand and, when he lets go, his nails have left faint crescents in my skin.

"Yeah..." is all I can say as I watch him walk off.
I sigh.

And as I start for the path, the wind picks up again — so strong my hair tie comes undone, and my hair starts whipping wildly all around. I quickly pull up my hood and run, protecting the flowers under my cape...

—THE WOLF—

I shake my fur out once more, grunting as more fur comes loose. At this rate I'll be hairless in two sundowns. If I live that long. It's embarrassing. I've seen kingdoms rise and fall, I've watched as brother turned against brother and sister against sister, I saw the start of these little villages...
and I'll quite possibly be destroyed by something so stupidly human as hunger.

I will have that boy. His blood. His hair. Oh, I can taste him now... he'd return me to my former glory, and that hair would keep me striking and awe-inspiring for at least half a century — possibly even a full one, if I don't take it in all at once.

The little blonde had been an appetizer, a little treat to keep me held over till I found the perfect victim.

And I've found him.

I slink forward, following the directions given to me.

A half hour passes before I find Madame Perrault's hut — a massive monstrosity that sits on the edge of the water bank. It's imposing, though not altogether intimidating: fading flowers line each window and the walkway, and an old pink bicycle leans against the right side of it.

The front door is open. I walk quietly inside, and am immediately hit with an overwhelming scent of peppermint and tea leaves, along with a faint lavender scent. Absolutely repulsive in its intensity, but I follow it. Follow it up a long flight of stairs, down a labyrinth of hallways, till I come upon a yellow door.
I nudge it open...

And there, partially hidden beneath a fortress of pillows, is Madame Perrault. She shifts at the sound of the door, but instead of waking she merely turns over and burrows in deeper.
Like a sleeping child.
Like a clueless prey.

I stroll over to the massive bed and climb on top of her.
She slowly awakens, her eyelids fluttering to reveal two crystal blues beneath. A yawn escapes her lips and she does a big stretch, her bones popping and cracking.

Then she finally looks at me, and her eyes go wide.
But not nearly as wide as my jaw. She barely manages a scream...

�"RAINER�"

It takes me a good two hours to deliver three messages: a set of wildflowers to a young girl with a broken leg, a love letter to a teenage boy from a younger girl, and an "I MISS YOU" message from a man to his very lonely wife. She took the longest, 'cause I kept having to stop to fetch her more tissues.

But that's neither here nor there. What's important is I'm finally at grand-mère! And hopefully enough time has passed and that weird brother of hers is no longer here.

Before going inside, I pull my hood down and shake out my hair. I run my hands through it, feeling the thick strands glide through my fingers. No knots or tangles, thankfully. I tie my hair back in another bun.

It's been two years now since I last cut it. Two years! My parents hate it, with both citing that it makes me look like a wildman from the jungle. I don't care, though. 'Cause it's mine, and I like it. And so does Grand-mère, and that's all that matters to me.

She especially loves when I wear it up, in a tail or bun, and will often braid it for me for special occasions such as family gatherings or holiday functions. It mortifies my parents every time, which is why she so happily does it.

I knock on the door.

It creaks open. I walk inside.

The lights are off, but the curtains have been drawn back so there is light. Everything looks relatively normal, but I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. What? I'm not sure yet... but definitely something...

"Grand-mère? It's me!" I call out, stepping further into her house. I hear movement from somewhere upstairs — quick, but loud. I walk to the bottom of the steps and look up. "Grand-mère?"

"Hello?" calls out an old, frail voice. I relax.

"It's Rainer, Grand-mère," I say, smiling softly.

A moment later she appears, and the sight of her sends chills down my spine. She's still dressed in her nightgown, her silver hair hidden beneath a crooked nightcap. She moves stiffly, swaying slightly with every step she takes. Her hands trail down the banister, her long dark nails leaving faint lines in the wood.

"Grand-mère?"

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaims, practically falling down the last few steps into my arms, "Oh, my sweet boy," she kisses my cheek, her lips chapped, before hugging me tight, "Oh, it's been so long," and though I can't explain why, I swear I heard her sniff me.

I pull away and help her to her feet.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, smiling slightly, "I was here last week, remember? I finally introduced you to Tyler�""

"Oh, that's right, that's right! Forgive me. My memory isn't what it once was," she reaches out and brushes my fringe back, tucking it behind my left ear, "Your hair's gotten so long," she whispers, in a tone I don't quite recognize. My smile grows.

"Isn't it great?" I turn, showing off the ponytail, "Dad hates it," I say proudly. She runs her fingers through it, her long nails finding a knot I somehow missed, "Mom, too," I say as I turn back to her.

She stares at me.
"...Everything alright?"

"Of course, though I can't really see how long it is in a ponytail, can I?" I smirk.

"Fair point," I reach back and grab ahold of my hair tie.

�"THE WOLF�"

I bite my tongue to keep from drooling as the boy shakes out his hair, allowing the thick, dense waves to flow in soft waves down to his collarbones. He turns around again to give me a better view as he shows off his mane in all its beautiful glory.

"Look at that," I run my fingers through the dense mane, feeling the energy practically radiating off each and every strand. It weaves its way up my arm to more, filling my mouth with the taste of youth. I can feel my teeth strengthen, and hair begin to thicken.

"Dad keeps threatening to shear me in my sleep," he laughs.

"Oh, I can imagine he must find something so mesmerizing so infuriating. It's easy for those to envy what they can't have..." he looks back at me then.

"Not sure I understand you, grand-mère..."

"Just rambling," I say, fiddling with a curl — rubbing it between my fingers, feeling its strength and texture.

"Well, anyway..." he pulls away and looks at me, "Dad wanted me to give you this," he reaches into his bag and produces a small white box, "He said you've wanted some for a minute now," he opens it, revealing a handful of small chocolate chip cookies.

It takes everything in me not to back away in disgust.

"Thanks, sweetie," I finally say, "Just put them in the kitchen for me, won't you?" I ask.

"Of course," he turns, and I follow him as he walks to the kitchen. Sunlight streams in through the open window, causing the golden tips of his luscious curls to practically glow in the orange light. I watch as they bounce with his every movement, radiating an intoxicating aroma that's driving me crazy. God, I'm hungry...

"Take your cape off, dear. Get comfortable. Or are you too busy to spend some time with your grand-mère?" I poke, and he smiles bashfully.

"Never too busy for you, Grand-mère," he says before unbuttoning his cape and tugging it off. He hangs it up before sitting down.

I walk up behind him, close my eyes and inhale deeply. He smells so enticingly wonderful, so deliciously sweet that just the thought of digging my hands into that mane is enough to bring a speck of drool. I quickly wipe it away.

"Everything okay?" he asks, glancing back at me.

"Everything is great, champ," I say before running my tongue over my canines. He furrows his brows at me then offers a small, confused smirk.

"Since when do you call me champ?" he asks.

"Don't I always?"

"Never, actually..." I can't resist it anymore; I reach up scrunch his hair in both hands, and breath in the energy radiating off it, "Grand-mère?" he starts starting, I force him back down by his hair. "Jeez-!" he turns to look at me, visibly confused and a bit irritated.
I lean in close.
"Stay still..." I growl.

�"RAINER �"

My eyes widen...
Grand-mère has blue eyes, the same as my father and brother.
This woman?
This *imposter*?
Her eye are green.
The same shade as the man in the woods. Conàn.
"Who are you?" I finally gasp. They smile. Not my grand-mère's smile, but *that* smile. The same as his, "Where's my Grand-mère?"
"Madame Perrault is indisposed at the moment," they reply, their voice a combination of strange and familiar, "Look straight," they instruct as they pull a pair of shears from their nightgown pocket. They're huge and rusted, with two carved femur bones for handles.
"...Are you going to kill me?"
"*Look. Straight."

I do as I'm told, and flinch when I feel it's long nails wrack through my hair; tugging out a few hidden knots as they flatten it down against the back of my neck.

I feel the rusted blade touch my skin, it's tip digging briefly digging into my neck before they adjust it. I feel it slowly glide across the top of my neck. It groans as it widens, allowing for more coverage.

***schhnk***

my eyes widen, and mouth runs dry. The scissors continue their glide towards the other side of my neck, creaking as they widen past their set positions. I feel him grab the tips of my curls to keep them straight and taunt and then--

***schh-schnk***

I shudder as I feel the waves fall away, brushing my arms on their way down �" leaving my neck exposed for the first time in two years. I feel him drag his knuckles against my skin �" creating a trail of goosepimples �" then I hear him inhale deeply.
"Why are you doing this...?" I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.

They doesn't say anything.
Instead simply move to my left, running those nails through the side and of what's left of the back. It feels... abnormal. Cause my head is still heavy, with the hair on either both sides still long and untouched. If you saw me from the front and only the front, you'd ever know that the back was just severed.
"Why me?" I try again, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions at bay. I won't cry in front of this... *entity*, or whatever it calls itself.
"It's outstanding how rarely humans realize their worth," they brush my hair forward so that its golden tips are once more curled around my collar bone, "or just how much power they actually wield in their frail, " I flinch when he pulls it taunt, keeping their grip both tight and unyielding, "it'd be sad if it wasn't so pathetic."

The scissors open with protests.
A soft gasp involuntarily escapes my lips when I feel the cold blade once more, this time behind my ear. This time it actually pokes a hole in my skin, drawing a speck of blood.
My heart *stops* when I feel the creature drag it's long, dry tongue across the droplet before correcting the angle of the scissors.
I bite my tongue to keep myself in check when he snaps the scissors close, severing a good six or seven inches of glorious hair.

Two years of arguing for it...
Two years of fighting for it...
Two years and over 1,825 hours of washing, styling and perfect.
And now, after three big yet swift snips, more than half of it currently lays at his feet.

***SHHK�"KRRRT�"SCHK***

I flinch in pain. My hair is resisting the blade, as if trying to stop this catastrophe itself, but the creature determined. He opens and closes the blades repeatedly, moving the blades this way and that, knicking my ear in the process �" thankfully it doesnt bleed. My head is yanked with every attempt, with the beast practically burying it's nails into my scalp in its efforts.

After a minute of struggling, it manages to finally cut through the stubborn knot that was putting up the fight, and the scissors quickly start to glide.

***SCHH-SCHNK*** ***SCHH-SCHNK***

The hair falls away, leaving my ear and the left side of my neck exposed.

I can't explain it, but I'm starting to feel a type of numbness I've never felt before, the kind where you feel like you're no longer in control of your body you can still feel everything.

From the corner of my eye I watch as they raise the severed seven inches to their nose and sniffs, their mouth immediately becoming salivated — almost as if it's savoring their scent?
They drop the hair onto the pile, licking their lips as they do,

When he looks up, my heart drops.

I've never seen someone with such unquenchable hunger before... and it's terrifying.

Before I can even properly let that sink in, the creature starts grabbing smaller sections and cutting them - moving and snipping at a pace that tells me he isn't being strategic or cautious. I can tell, even without a mirror, just how beyond destroyed it must look.

They run their fingers through the top, half of which still sits at seven inches, half of which now stands at roughly two inches �" same as the rest of the left side.

It moves round to my right, smiling.

In the two seconds it takes them to move from one side to another, *something* in them shifts. Their face is longer, their nose more pronounced; their eyes have taken on an almost almond-like shape, and their teeth...

"I don't understand..." I say, voice shaking, my eyes now trained forward.
"Of course not," it mutters, shaking its head, "You humans never do," I feel my stomach clench when it starts tugging their fingers through what's left of my hair, it's strengthening nails making quick and easy work of any leftover knot and tangles.

Like with the other side, they pull my hair taunt before raising the protesting scissors and placing them behind my ear. It snags on the hoop earring I like to wear, and I'm filled with immediate relief when the creature doesn't rip it free from my earlobe.

Unlike before, though, it doesn't line it up. Instead it just cuts, and cuts, and *cuts*; grabbing section after section like a homeless man at a buffet, and snipping it without an ounce of hesitation.

I watch in the reflection of a nearby kettle as more and more hair falls away, exposing my ear, my cheek, and the remainder of my egregiously long neck.

***SCHH-SCHNK*** ***SCHH-SCHNK***
*SNIP, SNIP* **SNIP, SNIP** ***SNIP, SNIP****

I can't keep them in anymore. I allow the tears to fall, mixing with the strands of hair caught on my cheek. The creature moves without mercy and without plan. It feels like hours pass of nothing more repeated *snip, snip, snip* �" which is always followed by the soft thump of hair hitting the linoleum floor.

I try to steady my breathing, but it becomes harder and harder to do the longer I have to hear those scissors creaking open with protests before snapping shut again, severing off piece after piece of who I am.

It pockets the scissors, and I feel my shoulders start to relax.

Then they pull out a set of cordless clippers �" one unlike I've ever seen before. It's small and compact, with a singular button and a blade made out of the teeth of a merganser.

"Wait�"" I start, beginning to stand up.
They force me back down, their nails digging painfully into my shoulder.
"Unless you want to be scalp, I advise you stay still as possible.c
"Can you please just tell me why you're doing this *to me?* I've never broken any rules, I've always done as told without complaint, so what'd I do?" I ask, pleading for an answer that'll make things make sense again.
"Because the ones untouched by the darkness of the universe, are the ones who always shine the brightest... satisfy the greatest," they say before clicking on the clippers.

*BBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZ*

The sound sends a jolt up my spine.

"Cause purity? Burns the sweetest," the smile grows, the corners curling around her eyes �" the way a dog smiles when it's on the verge of snapping.

I stare at the imposter, then at the clippers.
They hum in a way I've never heard clippers hum before. It's mechanical, but there's a smoothness to it's rhythm that sounds off �" almost like they're being run by sheer will and nothing else. And those teeth...

"If you try to run, I promise you won't get very far," it growls, "You understand?" I quickly nod, "Good boy," he says before cupping my head with his free hand, those nails digging mercilessly into my scalp.

I feel the vibration before I feel the teeth. It's frenzied, yet somehow restrained in a way I can't explain. Then the teeth make contact and slowly eat their way up. I close my eyes as I feel clumps of thick hair fall away, allowing the chill air of the room to brush my scalp. It goes higher and higher, moving up over my crown and down the center of my head �" stopping only once he reaches my hairline.

The sound of it shredding it's way through the top... my stomach churns, remembering all the buzzcuts and paperboy cuts my father forced upon me growing up. None were wanted, yet all were recieved anyway.

***BBZZZZZZZ-SCHKKKKK-BBZZZZZZZ***

I squeeze my eyes as clumps of hair rain down upon my face, one swipe alone sending a tidal wave of mismatched, uneven strands up down my cheeks onto one.

The creature runs his thumb over the freshly shorn path, the sensation alien. My father didn't even go this short...

He adjust my head, pushing it further down before placing the clippers at my nape once more — moving slowly and with precision. He repeats his previous manuever, sending another tidal of wave of hair tumbling down past my eyes.

My throat clenches when it suddenly turns off the clippers presses his nose against my crown �" on the freshly buzzed paths, specifically �" and inhales deeply. He tightens his grip on my scalp, holding me in a way that prevents me from moving. All I can do? Is shake.
"Can you feel it?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my scalp, "Isn't it intoxicating," my breath hitches when I feel a canine brush my skin, just hard enough to leave a scratch.

It takes a deep breath and stands up, its hand sliding off my head.

I don't dare move, instead I listen.
Listen as it strips off my grand-mère's nightie before tossing it aside.
Listen as it's bones begin to creak, then pop, then crack...
Listen as it grows bigger and wider, till it stands towering over me �" it's breath coming out in quick, ragged huffs.

I can't stop the tears no matter how hard I try.

Then...

*BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*

The clippers roar back to life.

The creature places it's hand on my shoulder �" it's now two times bigger, with five times hairier. It's nails tear through my clothes into my shoulder, drawing blood.
"Don't move," it instructs in a voice like no other.
I obey, of course, though I can feel my body trembling despite ny best efforts.

He places the clippers at my right temple and�"

**BBZZZZ—SKKKRT
BBZZZZ—SKKKRT**

More hair falls, more than I was expecting. How's there still so much left? It repeats the manuver over and over, running those jagged teeth down the same path till it was sure every last strand was caught.

Then it moves to my left temple and�"

**BBZZZZ—SKKKRT
BBZZZZ—SKKKRT**

*Still more hair!*

Ican feel the severed curls clinging to the tears on my cheeks, but I won't wipe them away. Not in front of them, not when I can feel them salivating with every pass. I refuse to give them anymore satisfaction than they're already getting.

I can feel my head growing lighter, but from a lack of hair and from the stress of this whole situation.

It returns to the back and repeats the process, cleaning away any hair it might've missed earlier. I can feel a few tiny curls tumble down my neck.

"Almost..." he growls, his voice coming from above.
I stay frozen, my whole body trembling as it runs the clippers teeth over the top of my head. "There..."

Something wet and goopey hits my shoulder and trails down my chest. I look at it... *drool*...

"Perfect," it growls, and I watch out of the corner of my eyes as it's long, gnarled fingers gather up my severed hair and pull it towards themselves.

I stay seated, staring at the wall as I listen to it scoop it up before... stepping away? It's actually going away? I feel my muscles relax, and I quickly run my hands up my face and over my scalp.

God, it's so short... Just wait till Dad sees. Wait till *mom* sees it. She hates a buzzed head.

I finally turn around.

The last thing I see are it's hideous teeth...

...and there's a lot of them.

�"THE WOLF�"

I sit in my denn, hours later, surrounded by some of boy's hair. I inhale deeply, already feeling better than I have in half a millennia.
And come tomorrow? I'll be beautiful again.

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