It started out small; I couldn't yet comprehend what it was going to be, but I had a hypothesis.
Her unwavering fingers layered gently, pulling strands over each other, gathering up new strands to contribute to the old.
Her confident hands working the strands coolly, swiftly, smoothly, tenderly, into a thick rope. Weaving my eyes and mind into a pleasant trance. A warm nonchalance filled the tips of her fingers, the palms of her hands, undergoing a familiar process with new charm. I allowed myself to fall into the sleepy mazy of her threading. Sunlight filtered through my peripherals, bringing to life the little sparkles I already imagined.
One of her hands stopped, suddenly but not abruptly, to flip a page, and only then I noticed that the elegance and grace of her motions had been completely natural; she had been reading whilst working the most astounding magic with her long, slender fingers.
Her hair fell in waves, one wave collapsing over the other, in fluid pieces like the layers of a waterfall. She continued the actions that had entranced me so, until the waves were pulled tight into a corset of hair. She finished the braid, and let go of it, allowing it to fall down onto her back. I continued staring, the bubble of awe not bursting just yet.
She turned around and mouthed, "Does it look okay?", breaking the spell, and I reluctantly released myself from its pull.
"It looks good."
