Chapter 709: The First Washing
Chapter 708: The First Washing
Sophia scrunched her face in thought. The smell had been sharp—biting, even—but there had been so many products, so many different mixtures applied over so many months that the details blurred together like paint running in rain.
"I remember the smell," she said slowly. "It was sharp and, um... it burned my nose a little. But honestly, I cannot be certain about much else because there were various products used. Oils, sprays, creams. I remember different people touching my hair, applying different things, trying different mixtures. I am not exactly sure which product finally worked."
She paused, her fingers curling slightly in her lap.
"So I may be mistaken about some of it. But that’s what I remember... I’m sorry I don’t remember more."
Olga was quiet for a long moment, her expression thoughtful, her fingers drumming lightly against her thigh. The other workers exchanged glances, their earlier excitement dimmed into something more serious.
Then a man spoke up from the edge of the circle.
"I cannot recall any dye having that smell at all," he said. "Not in all my years working here."
Olga nodded slowly. "That is my concern as well."
The man frowned. "Then perhaps we should just try anything. It is dye after all, and we have things that should be able to get rid of dye. We have to start somewhere, do we not?"
Olga considered this for a moment, then turned to Sophia.
"If you will allow us," she said, "we would like to wash your hair. Not with anything harsh—just warm water, mild herbs, gentle oils. We want to see how the dye responds to a proper cleansing."
Sophia nodded. "Alright."
Orion, who had been watching from his corner with the children still clustered around him, stepped forward slightly.
"Will it hurt her?" he asked.
Olga shook her head. "No. It is just washing. We will be gentle. I do not think it will cause her any pain."
Orion was quiet for a moment, his jaw tight.
Sophia turned to look at him. "Calm down," she said. "They are just washing my hair."
Orion stared at her, the frown still on his face. "I know that."
"Then stop looking like someone is about to stab me."
He exhaled slowly. "I am just worried. But since it is washing, it should not be an issue. However..."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower.
"If you feel any pain at all—anything—you tell me immediately."
Sophia rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it. "I am not that weak."
"I know you are not. But I am still worried. Especially after everything you experienced with your hair before."
Sophia’s expression softened. She reached out and touched his arm briefly.
"Do not worry," she said. "I am in the hands of professionals. They will make sure I am not uncomfortable at all."
She glanced at Olga, who nodded firmly.
"We will be very careful," Olga said.
Orion did not look convinced, but he nodded. "Can I stay while you guys work?" he asked Olga.
Olga looked shocked, but she nodded.
Then she turned and gestured toward the workshop entrance. "Let us move inside. It will be easier to work there."
---
The interior of the workshop was warm.
A hearth burned in the corner, its flames casting soft shadows across the stone walls. Shelves lined the room, filled with glass jars, clay pots, bundles of dried herbs, and tools whose purposes Sophia could only guess at. The air smelled of lavender, rosemary, and something earthier she could not place.
One of the men brought forward a wooden bowl, large and shallow, and placed it on a low table near the hearth. He gestured for Sophia to sit, and she did. The man positioned her so she could lean forward and let her hair fall into the bowl.
The others moved about gathering supplies.
A clay pitcher of warm water, a small jar of amber oil, a bundle of dried herbs she crumbled between her palms, and a small pot of what looked like thick cream.
They placed them within easy reach.
Olga poured warm water slowly over Sophia’s hair, her fingers working gently through the strands, separating them, ensuring the water reached every part. The sound was soft—a quiet trickling that filled the silence.
Sophia closed her eyes.
The warmth was pleasant. Soothing, even. She had not realized how tense she had been until the heat seeped into her scalp and her shoulders began to relax.
Olga worked in silence for a while, her movements practiced and sure. Then she reached for the oils and began to work them in, massaging Sophia’s scalp with gentle pressure.
The others watched from a respectful distance, their eyes tracking every movement, every shift of Olga’s hands.
Orion stood near the door, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Sophia’s face, in case she felt uncomfortable, even for just a slight moment.
After several minutes, Olga reached for the herbs.
"This may feel strange," she said. "But it should not hurt."
She sprinkled the crumbled herbs over Sophia’s hair, then added more warm water, working the mixture into a soft paste. The smell was earthy, almost sweet—nothing like the sharp bitterness Sophia remembered from her childhood.
Then Olga began to wash.
She worked in sections, her fingers moving methodically, ensuring every strand was cleansed. The water in the bowl grew murky, then dark, then black.
Everyone thought that was a sign the dye was receding. That the hair was going back to its original colour.
But when Olga finished and rinsed the last of the mixture away, the result was underwhelming.
Sophia lifted her head and looked at the wet strands hanging around her face.
Her hair was still black.
The water in the bowl was black too.
Olga stared at it, her brow furrowed.
"This is underwhelming," she said.
"Very few strands changed colour," the old woman said thoughtfully.
"If one doesn’t look closely, they wouldn’t know it even changed colour," another said.
"The water turned black, the hair reacted to the oils and the herbs, so it’s some sort of dye..."
"But that’s all we got."
"That, and the fact that her hair colour really is white," the man who had held the wooden bowl said.
