I have had long hair all of my life. Sometimes it has been more long than at other times. I remember when I was a mere twenty years old, my hair was long enough to reach to my feet. Even when my tresses were braided into a single plait down my back, it was a rope that reached well past my ankles. Such a thing, though a mark of beauty and femininity, is incredibly heavy and not very easy to take care of. It would take sitting by the fire for hours, brushing, combing, untangling, and waiting for it to dry. Anyone who ever recommended 100 strokes a night every night for a woman to brush her hair with never had to contend with it being longer than to their waist! Your arms end up being quite tired! It was about the beginning of the 17th Century when I cut my hair a little shorter,at least to my hips so that it became more manageable.
If you were to ask me, however, what kind of hair I would like to see on a man, I would have to answer, long and dark. I think it goes back to that first night, on the Fortunate Island, when all that I had in the world was my maidenhood. I clutched it to me like the fur robe which covered me on that large stone altar amid the standing stones. My hair was loose and hung about me, scented with the sharp pungency of rosemary and heather. He was tall, muscular and beautiful. If there was anyone who could represent the Stag King, it would have been the young man standing in the flickering shadows of the Bale Fires that night. His hair was as dark as the black basalt that I was lying upon and in our night together, our hair tangled around us so that we could no longer discern where the strands of one ended and the other’s began. Perhaps it was his beauty that made me stay my hand and not take his life when I should have.
And nearly every man that I have ever loved and held dearest to my heart resembled him in some way.My dearest friend, my husband, my paramours – all of them held the same wildness the unslain opfer* did that night. Whether I relive it again and again, I am uncertain. I do not know that it really matters.I just know what I prefer.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 413
Opfer – A human sacrifice used with in some Pagan traditions. Usually one who is willing.