Diamond Within - Vi x OC

Flashback

As the golden rays of the sun streamed through my window, warming my face, I awoke with a burst of excitement. Today was the day—Daddy had promised to take me to the zoo! I leapt out of bed, my heart racing with joy. 

I quickly slipped into the adorable lacy purple dress my mother had chosen for me, the soft fabric brushing against my skin. The little ruffles danced as I moved, making me feel like a princess. 

Sitting at my ornate vanity, I removed my bonnet, letting my hair cascade around my shoulders. As I reached for my brush, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and a shriek escaped my lips.

My mother burst into the room, worry etched across her face. "What's wrong—" she began, but her voice faltered, trailing off as her eyes widened in shock. She froze, rooted to the spot, as the color washed from her face. 

There I was, sitting before the mirror, and the reflection that stared back at me was unrecognizable. My once vibrant black, curly locks were gone, replaced by straight, silvery strands that shimmered in the light, cascading down my shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. 

I never made it to the zoo that day.

Instead, the hours stretched on as my mother poured her energy into transforming my hair into something it simply refused to become. She attempted to dye it a rich, raven black, but all her efforts were met with hair that remained stubbornly unchanged. She reached for the curling iron, but each twist and turn of the curling wand was met with immediate defiance, my straight locks bouncing back like a rubber band.

As the clock ticked on, I fought back tears, watching the disappointment etch deeper into her features with every passing hour. Each new strategy seemed to escalate her frustration. At one point, she even brandished a pair of scissors, ready to cut away the remnants of the hair she deemed unacceptable, but even that radical move was futile; my hair sprang back to its original state, resilient as ever. 

Her patience thinned, and the once-gentle hands became more forceful, transforming into tools of exasperation rather than care. Finally, my father stepped in, his firm voice cutting through the thick tension in the air, urging her to relent and tuck me into bed—finally ending the chaotic battle over my hair.

As I lay there beneath the covers, the room dimmed in shadows, my father pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his warmth a contrast to the frigid atmosphere that loomed. But my mother lingered at my door, her eyes pinched with disapproval, casting a glare that felt heavy and cold. In that moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had somehow transformed into a monster in her eyes.