witch

Teresa sat atop a grassy knoll overlooking the sea surrounding the Safe Haven. Her fingers dug into the soft dirt at her sides, knees tucked up to her chest.

A mirror lay facedown in the grass to her left. Her fingers closed around the handle, then released. Then closed again, then released.

Summoning her courage, she raised the mirror to eye level, confronted by the reflection of the woman gazing back at her.

A girl with dark hair, cropped almost to her scalp. Some places were almost entirely bald, likely never to recover due to the scars inflicted there. Bandages wrapped around the side of her face, concealing still-healing burns. Her cheeks were sunken and gaunt, skin pale.

She looked like a witch who had survived being burnt at the stake. And she felt like one too.

She remembered that final day in the Last City, falling through the roof just after pushing Thomas onto the berg, ensuring his safety. Landing heavily two floors down, already engulfed in flames, she had just laid there for a moment, looking at the night sky.

In that moment, Teresa had never wanted to live more, and never been able to move less. She was a statue, immortalized in her misery.

But then a girl had descended to her. Teresa was a woman of science, but for the first time, she believed in angels. And then she lost consciousness.

And woke up 72 hours later in a hospital bed, her screams echoing the agony of her burns. And then, sleep took hold once more.

The next time she woke, the pain was down to a persistent throbbing. But she was alive. A girl with dark hair was at the end of her bed, watching her with an expression so stern Teresa knew it was Brenda.

That had been four months ago.

Brenda had been with Teresa since the first day she was awake. At first it was a begrudging relationship. Brenda had been assigned to nurse duty after getting into a fistfight with some munie over something. Teresa was Brenda's punishment.

But as time went on, they grew closer.

Now they sleep in the same tent.

Teresa despised her appearance. In the apocalypse that she lived in, vanity was a waste of time. Nevertheless, she had continued to brush her hair whenever she had the chance. It remained shiny and long, even after months in the Scorch.

She had remained beautiful.

And now it was all gone, maybe for good. Her hair, the sole constant in her life. The same jet black as her mother's, same soft waves as her father's. And it was gone.

Teresa stood on shaking legs, mirror clutched in her left hand, still raised to view her face.

And then she smashed the thing against a rock.

She hurled it to the ground and stomped on it until her feet were bleeding and she wept and yelled and the mirror was gone and it was gone and the girl in the reflection was gone too.

And now she was alone.

Teresa wailed, crouched on the ground with the shards of the mirror clutched in her sliced hands, desperately trying to find her reflection again. Because even if she had hated that girl in the mirror, she was all Teresa had left.

The grass shifted beside Teresa. She didn't need to look to know that Brenda was beside her now, a quiet presence.

"You're not ugly, you know."

A guttural sob forced its way out of Teresa's mouth.

"And even if you were, it wouldn't matter."

She was trembling as she looked at Brenda, unable to get the shape of her to focus in her watery vision. There was a pair of scissors in her lap.

"You can think what you want, but not a single person here gives a fuck what you look like. Including me," Brenda added.

Teresa ran a bloodied hand through what was left of her hair.

"And I'll prove it." With that, Brenda lifted the scissors to her head, grabbed a chunk of hair, and cut it clean off.

"Brenda, what are you doing?" Teresa gasped, lunging for the discarded locks like she could somehow save them, reattach them to Brenda's head.

"Proving it." Another snip. Another handful of dark hair.

"Brenda, stop! You're gonna regret this!"

"I don't think I will."

And she was finished with her assault on her head. Her once shoulder-length hair was now choppy and uneven, barely skating her ears. All of her beautiful hair, wasted.

Sobbing, Teresa began pressing the pieces of hair to Brenda's head, a futile attempt to undo the damage that had already been done

Gentle hands covered hers, bringing them to a halt. Teresa locked eyes with Brenda, their faces inches apart beneath the morning sun.

"You still think I'm pretty, right?" Brenda said with a coy smile, tinged with a shyness that Teresa wasn't expecting.

"Of course, it's you. But your hair, Bren."

"So you believe me now? I still think you're pretty. Even though it doesn't matter."

They just stared at each other for a moment, Brenda's gaze soft and Teresa's searching.

The strands of hair fell from between Teresa's fingertips, and for the first time in a while, she forgot all about how she looked.