#(Guest - Father Nazarov)

[littlesilverplatinum]

Pretty

Continued from - x @floaroanemoia​

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-She’d been four when she’d come into Father Nazarov’s care. A young man himself, just shy past sixteen summers and with the weight of his home’s fate readily set upon his sunken shoulders; one couldn’t truly blame him for having felt out of his depths. Another life is a difficult thing to care for when you already feel as though your own future is uncertain; but it was a task he accepted. A task he took on without complaint or demand for aid.  Aid, of course, he still did get. The aspiring successor to Lomma’s highest seat left less than ideal time to care for a young toddler – and so, early within her life, Kari was put into the care of the village’s church. A monastery, filled with young women of all ages, became her home when Father couldn’t be there. They’d feed her, clothe her; sing her hymns and were there to teach her the things that a young boy could not. But still, each and every night she would return to Damian’s home – her arms, outstretched and high as she stumbled upon gravel roads so that he could more easily scoop her into his awaiting embrace. And he’d ask about her day, what she’d learned or had seen, and he would be the last person by her side before John Blund stole her away.

Whatever one may think of his means; his overprotectiveness, his hopes for the young girls path in life – one could at least admit that whatever his motivation, care most certainly was the most prominent one.  He’d trusted her with Sarana for this reason. For he’d seen a shift in her mannerisms, a shift in her desires. She had stopped asking him to cut her hair.-

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“It’s oh so beautiful, miss… I can’t help but to envy you so.”

-Last they both had seen the elusive vagabond, snow still had covered the grounds of Lomma. Kari, as overjoyed by foreigners as she was, had easily left her washing duties to run into – yes, into – the older woman’s embrace when she’d appeared, crying out in excitement for the travels that was sure to come. Hands, still soaked in lather and wet to the touch.  Hollyhock dolls, tea sets carved out of wood by fatherly hands. Baby dolls stuffed with straw. Growing up as she had, Kari had rarely gotten the chance to play in that specific sort of way that little girls seemed to so evidently enjoy – and this extended to something as simple as caring for one’s appearance.

She was a good girl. Not a pretty girl – or at least, that was how Kari had thought of herself for the longest of time.

Sarana’s golden locks were warm to the touch where the sun had come to linger, and the young girl couldn’t help but wonder how hair of such a light, airy color could feel so heavy. When she’d practiced her braids, it has mostly been upon herself; hidden in her bedroom late in the evening, sat before a mirror cast in candlelight.  Hidden behind her marrow veil, a single, small braid pushed against the side of her head. Pitiful, perhaps, when compared to the intricate weaves she wound into the older woman’s hair now.

Kari bit her lip, her brows furrowing prettily. Another petal was woven into gold.-

“… If father allows for it, then I’d want nothing more.”

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-Indeed. Little Kari wasn’t so little anymore, and Damian had perhaps been the one to notice it the most. Hollyhock dolls, tea sets carved out of wood by fatherly hands. Baby dolls stuffed with straw… These things, he’d learned, were no longer things that mattered to the young girl. He’d noticed how during morning mass, as the sun begun to shine through the church’s broad windows, that rather than pay attention to his words and the verses of hymns – Kari would simply gaze upon herself in their colorful reflection. Her fingers, sun kissed and clean, tentatively playing with the few strands of hair that she so stubbornly revealed to the world.

He had cut her hair since she’d come into his care. An act done, perhaps initially, out of desperation. For he hadn’t known how one was meant to care for a little girls hair, and she’d been so stubborn in not allowed anyone but him to brush her dark locks. More often than not, therefore, she had wandered into the world with a birds nest upon her head – none the wiser of how she had looked. For she had, after all, been but a child back then. The first time he had taken scissors to her locks, a mess had been made. Lopsided and choppy, and far too short in the back; she may as well have kept her nest compared to what he had done. But she had hopped from his lap. Towards the vanity in the far corner of her room, a gift given to her for when she grew older; and in the mirror, with chubby fingers weaving through her messy locks – Kari has worn the biggest smile that he’d ever seen.

She had loved it, and he had felt his heart swell with relief. And though he certainly amended his faults – practice, after all, does make perfect, the memory of it still lingered with him. Even now that she stood taller than she’d ever been.

But she’d denied him last. Had requested if she could let it grow, there beneath her veil. As though anyone but her sisters would see the change.-

-In hindsight, he had come to regret his words. For she had left his home with her shoulders sunk and with a quiver to her lips. He had told her that she wouldn’t look pretty if she did. That she wouldn’t be herself.

What he had felt, perhaps, was that she no longer would be his little girl if she let it grow. For it meant she didn’t need him anymore.-

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“Miss Sarana? Say. How… How long has it taken you, to have your hair grow as long as it has become?”