Ersia: Raven Dawn

“What do you mean cut my hair?! I like it just the way it is!”

Viena grumbled from the sofa, arms crossed and brows knit, while Randia rinsed his hands at the sink. Lisabelle, perched at the table with a glass of water, simply listened, her expression unreadable but faintly amused.

“I can give you two good reasons,” Randia replied evenly, shutting off the tap. A soft orange glow shimmered over his fingers as he dried them magically, warm air rippling from his palms. “Which one do you want first?”

“Whichever one you think will actually convince me!” Viena shot back, defiant but wary.

Randia exhaled through his nose, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“First,” he began, turning to face her fully. “I keep finding strands of your hair scattered across the floor every morning. You shouldn’t trouble Madam Eleanor and Lisabelle with your shedding.”

Viena’s cheeks flushed a deep pink. Instinctively, she clutched at her hair, as though shielding it from accusation.

“H-How do you even know they’re mine? They could be Lily’s!”

“Huh?!” Lisabelle recoiled, offended.

“You’re the only one here with black hair, Viena,” Randia pointed out calmly. “It’s not exactly a mystery.”

Viena opened her mouth for another retort but faltered, lips twisting in frustration. With a sharp huff, she turned away, arms folded tightly.

“Second,” Randia continued, his tone dipping into something more serious, “the incident involving Lisabelle has left us in a precarious position. I trust you haven’t forgotten that we were meant to lie low while we’re here?”

At that, Lisabelle lowered her glass slightly, her gaze sharpening. A question rose to her lips, but she held it back, waiting.

“…Now that you say it,” Viena murmured, frowning, “what did happen at court? Everyone was there to listen to you, weren’t they? Doesn’t that mean people know about us now?”

Randia’s expression softened, though it didn’t lose its gravity. “Do you remember how I looked when I came home that day?”

Viena blinked, puzzling over it. The memory was hazy—mundane at the time, she hadn't thought it worth remembering.

“Bandages, Vivi,” Lisabelle interjected quietly. “Uncle Ran had his whole head wrapped in them. Lucky for us, the judge and the officials didn’t ask him to remove them. Maybe they were too concerned about the…” Her voice wavered. “…The cut I gave him.”

The heaviness in her tone dimmed the room. Guilt, unspoken but palpable, weighed on her shoulders. Randia, noticing, chose to dismiss it with his usual measured composure.

“It was a smart move,” he said firmly, lifting a hand to gesture toward his left eye. “You should be proud of it. And as you can see—I’m perfectly fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“H-How is there not even a scar?” Viena’s voice rose with astonishment. “They said the scissors went into your eye! I—I didn’t see it myself, but still…”

Yet her surprise wasn’t from the wound alone. It was Randia’s rare praise that left her blinking in disbelief. After months of traveling together—and countless times she’d asked him to teach her to fight—he had never once handed her more than terse encouragement. And now, here he was, complimenting Lisabelle, and even smiling faintly as he did.

“Anyway,” Randia concluded, letting the matter settle, “that’s why you’ll cut your hair. Do you understand, Viena?”

“…Yes, Papa…” she mumbled, chastened.

“Oh, and one more thing. You won’t be visiting the cathedral anytime soon.”

“What?! Why not?!”

“For the same reason. Hirma and the other knights have been visiting more frequently. I won’t take unnecessary risks. Stay home. Be patient. Understood?”

Viena slumped back on the sofa with a groan but nodded faintly. Randia then turned his attention to Lisabelle, voice shifting into something lighter.

“That said, it shouldn’t be too boring for you, since you won’t be alone. Lisabelle, may I ask a favor?”

“You want me to look after this gremlin, don’t you?” Lisabelle asked dryly, glancing sideways at Viena.

“Yes, thank you. And if you’re able, perhaps you could… teach her a thing or two. READING, for example,” he added pointedly, the weight in his voice betraying long-standing exasperation.

Lisabelle’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, she turned to Viena, who offered an awkward, toothy smile and immediately glanced away, sheepish. It was clear Randia had tried before—and failed spectacularly.

‘Is she really that dense?’ Lisabelle wondered briefly. But the thought faded quickly. She remembered Viena’s sharp questions during their conversation with Laura. The girl wasn’t slow—just stubborn.

“…Sigh. Fine. I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”

"Okay then! Let's go to your room and read some books right now and-!"

"Cut your hair first."

Viena wanted to divert the topic hoping that Randia didn't notice and bring up about the haircut again. Yet, she got read like a book since Randia never missed a single intention. The little girl went mawkish and puffed her cheeks.

"Lily~" Viena begged for help from Lisabelle.

Lisabelle tilted her head thoughtfully, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Should I make her bald?” she asked Randia coolly.

"If it was necessary . . . ," Randia answered.

"LILY. . . . !" Viena shrieked, scandalized.

---

It is 3 PM in the afternoon.

Viena and Lisabelle knelt by the doorway, lacing up their boots with swift fingers and hushed excitement. Sunlight poured through the narrow windows, warm and golden, stretching long shadows across the wooden floor. Just as they reached for the latch, a voice clipped through the air, halting them in place.

“And where do you think you’re going, girls?”

Gwen’s figure swept into view, her heels clicking smartly on the stone terrace. Alan sat nearby on a bench Randia had set there for them—a silent sentinel with arms folded and a faint crease between his brows. His gaze was steady, but it was Gwen who dominated the scene. The tall, slender woman adjusted the bun perched high on her head and cocked an eyebrow, her chin tilting left, then right, like a hawk sizing up her prey.

Lisabelle, unbothered, blinked once and replied with disarming innocence. “She wants to cut her hair. You know a good place?”

For a moment, Gwen simply stared. Then, her face lit up in a burst of enthusiasm so fierce it nearly knocked the air from the porch.

“Of course I do!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “Every hairstylist in this city is my friend. But for you? I’ll take you to the best of them!” She tapped a manicured finger against her chin, eyes narrowing with focus. “Let’s see… Katy? No, she hates kids. Bety? Too by-the-book… Ah! Barbara. Barbara is perfect.”

“H-Hey, Gwen…” Alan interjected warily, his tone edged with restraint. “Aren’t you forgetting something? She’s supposed to stay home.”

“Shut up, boy! The ladies are talking!” Gwen snapped, waving a dismissive hand without looking at him. “Besides—nobody sees, nobody knows. Simple. We’ll put her in something discreet.”

Alan’s frown deepened. “…But—”

“Aaah, sod it! You worry too much!” Gwen threw her arms up theatrically, spinning on her heel. “I’ll be with them, won’t I? It’s just a stroll. Like a walk in the garden. And anyway—” She jabbed a finger toward him, eyes flashing with mock scorn. “It’s practically a crime to stop women from being the best version of themselves! No wonder you’re single, grumpy, and miserable. Do your research next time before you open that dull mouth of yours!”

Alan’s lips parted slightly. He closed them again. Slowly, flatly, he blinked at her—utterly unimpressed and entirely defeated.

Gwen clapped once, decisive. “Come on, girls! The parlor won’t stay open all day!”

Without waiting, she marched toward the gate, her bun bouncing imperiously as she went. Lisabelle exchanged a quick, sly glance with Viena, who beamed despite herself.

---

They ended up leaving the house together, winding their way toward downtown as the afternoon sun mellowed into a soft amber glow. Viena skipped alongside Lisabelle, her bunny-ear headband bobbing cheerfully with each step, while Lisabelle kept herself cloaked tightly in a dark brown mantle, her face half-hidden beneath the hood. The two murmured to each other as Gwen strode ahead, map unfolded in front of her, lips pursed in concentration. Every so often, she frowned, turned the map sideways, muttered under her breath—but neither of the girls dared complain.

“Lily,” Viena whispered, sidling close, “are you two close buddies or what?”

“You mean me and officer-lady? No. Met her the same day you did.”

“Then how’d you know she’d agree to this?”

Lisabelle’s lips curled with a hint of slyness. “I overheard their yapping when we were hauled around in the carriage. They’re chatty, but Gwen? Gwen’s a whole cascade when she talks about beauty care and the like.”

“Ohhh…” Viena nodded sagely. “Well, I suppose I can trust her with my hair then.”

Eventually, they arrived. The beauty parlor squatted between a bakery and a cobbler’s shop—a small, lopsided house that looked as though a dozen children had been let loose on it with chalk and clay. The outer walls were splashed with colorful scribbles of flowers, clouds, suns, and cheerful stick figures dancing in crooked lines. Even from the street, they could hear a raucous medley of shouting, giggling, wailing, and shrieking from within.

“Alright! Here we are!” Gwen announced brightly.

She flung open the door. A bell tinkled overhead, and the noise inside surged to an almost comical volume. Children darted between chairs and tables—some clutching toys, others howling to their guardians. The walls were plastered with crayon drawings hanging like bunting, toys were scattered across the wooden floor, and harried adults scolded and soothed in equal measure. The entire room buzzed with the barely-contained chaos of a festival ground—or perhaps something closer to a battlefield.

“A-Are you sure this is the place, Gwen?” Lisabelle asked warily, her brows twitching downward.

Before Gwen could answer, quick, energetic footsteps echoed across the floorboards. A lean woman burst into view—a whirlwind wrapped in a mocha-brown complexion and a voluminous afro that bounced with each step. Her oversized glasses teetered on her nose, somehow perfectly suiting her lively demeanor.

“Hello, dears! Welcome to Barbara Barberia! Come on in—Jonathan! Share those pencils, you rascal! No hogging! Maine! Get down from that window bar right this second!”

Barbara weaved between the chaos like a seasoned dancer, barely missing a toppled toy as she scooped up a runaway scarf and then deftly pinched the nose of a small girl clamped to her thigh with her teeth.

“Busy as usual, Barbara?” Gwen called, grinning.

"Ah! Yes, it's a blessing from the - UAAAGH! Colette! Stop biting me! Where are your cookies?! I gave you some earlier!" Barbara gently pinched the nose of the kid who bites the side of her right thigh.

Gwen laughed, slipping easily into conversation. From their exchange, it became clear they were old friends—former academy colleagues. Barbara, it turned out, had once borrowed heavily from Gwen’s family to fund her higher studies. The debt was long since repaid, but their friendship had endured, seasoned by years and tempered by distance.

“So this is today’s guest of honor?” Barbara asked after a while, turning to inspect Viena. She pushed her glasses atop her head and leaned down, peering intently at the girl. “My, my… so tiny, like a kitten. Are you sure she’s eight?”

“Wha—! Hey! I’m growing, you know!” Viena huffed, puffing out her cheeks indignantly.

“Hahaha! Alright, little bunny—let’s get to it!”

The next hour melted away inside Barbara Barberia. Twenty minutes were spent trimming and shaping Viena’s hair. The other forty vanished in a flurry of laughter, gossip, and gentle scolding as Barbara multitasked like a maestro in her own wild symphony.

When at last the wash basin was emptied and the final curl combed into place, Barbara spun Viena toward the mirror like a baker unveiling a fresh, golden loaf from the oven.

Gwen leaned in, beaming. “My, my… you never disappoint, Barbara.”

Lisabelle, standing slightly back, flicked her gaze aside, arms crossed, her voice clipped and neutral. “I suppose… you don’t look too bad.”

In truth, she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Viena for too long. The little girl’s fresh haircut framed her bright face perfectly—neat, soft, and impossibly endearing. For all her stoicism, Lisabelle’s composure wavered under the weight of just how adorable Viena now looked.