“Oh my goodness. You look so pretty with black hair, Luna,” Yasmin gushes for the tenth time. “It makes your green eyes pop even more.”
“It’s itchy,” I grumble, scratching at the back of my head. “Why do you even have this sort of thing?”
Yasmin shrugs, pulling the hood of her shawl over her head as we pass a couple of guards on the road to town. “When you are in that line of work, wigs are sometimes needed. Men have different preferences,” she blushes.
“Oh,” I suddenly have the urge to wash my hair when we get back home. I don’t mean to judge or think too deeply of the subject, but the thought of some random man performing those acts in such close proximity to an accessory I’m currently wearing I find mildly disturbing. I hope she washed it afterward.
“Does your mate have many prefere
