I have had long hair all of my life. Sometimes it has been more long than at other times. I remember when I was a mere twenty years old, my hair was long enough to reach to my feet. Even when my tresses were braided into a single plait down my back, it was a rope that reached well past my ankles. Such a thing, though a mark of beauty and femininity, is incredibly heavy and not very easy to take care of. It would take sitting by the fire for hours, brushing, combing, untangling, and waiting for it to dry. Anyone who ever recommended 100 strokes a night every night for a woman to brush her hair with never had to contend with it being longer than to their waist! Your arms end up being quite tired! It was about the beginning of the 17th Century when I cut my hair a little shorter,at least to my hips so that it became more manageable.
If you were to ask me, however, what kind of hair I would like to see on a man, I would have to answer, long and dark. I think it goes back to that first night, on the Fortunate Island, when all that I had in the world was my maidenhood. I clutched it to me like the fur robe which covered me on that large stone altar amid the standing stones. My hair was loose and hung about me, scented with the sharp pungency of rosemary and heather. He was tall, muscular and beautiful. If there was anyone who could represent the Stag King, it would have been the young man standing in the flickering shadows of the Bale Fires that night. His hair was as dark as the black basalt that I was lying upon and in our night together, our hair tangled around us so that we could no longer discern where the strands of one ended and the other’s began. Perhaps it was his beauty that made me stay my hand and not take his life when I should have.
And nearly every man that I have ever loved and held dearest to my heart resembled him in some way.My dearest friend, my husband, my paramours – all of them held the same wildness the unslain opfer* did that night. Whether I relive it again and again, I am uncertain. I do not know that it really matters.I just know what I prefer.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 413
crossposted to
Opfer – A human sacrifice used with in some Pagan traditions. Usually one who is willing.
Life Belongs to Sekhmet 
Ah, so you are telling me, in a rather discrete manner, that I should not cut my hair? And here I thought short hair the norm these days. *smirk*
Oui, mon amour…I am asking you, as a wife to her husband, or even as just a woman to a man whom she finds most desirable, to please not cut your hair.
It looks glorious on you and I have heard more than one woman whisper on occassion to a nearby friend that you are stunning and then they go on to wonder what you are like…..intimately. Of course, that is something this wife of yours will never divulge. I have never been one to care for what is the norm – and neither do you. *smirks*
(locked to Faelyn)
I have never quite learned to manage the length of my hair without the aid of numerous attendants. The few times in my life when I have been utterly without them, my hair has suffered for it; after Tynemouth I had almost to hack my braids off at the shoulders, they were so hopelessly knotted, and full of such debris as one might imagine an entire host of sparrows requiring for their nests.
I do not care for long pale hair on a man, however lustrous it may be, for it reminds me too much of my husband’s flawless curls. Mortimer’s hair was dark — he was accused more than once of possessing a Welshman’s color, the irony of which ever amused him — but cropped short when I knew him best; he would not let it grow beyond the cut it had while he was lodged in the Tower.
But for that spill of sable which delights the eye and the hand, I can think of none who rival you, Faelyn. Save perhaps a certain ink-marked Arab; but then, I never had the pleasure of winding his locks betwixt my fingers, nor of enduring their teasing caress as they slid down my belly and thighs.
*locked to Isabella*
But your hair is lovely again now, Isabella. *reaching out to touch the length near her shoulder, Faelyn cannot help but caress her friend’s neck that is beneath her tresses with reverent fingers* Would that you would let me tend them for you again. Part of the enjoyment for me was working out the snarls for you.
*nodding* The only fair haired man that I cared for was Athos. For whatever reason, they fill me with trepidation also. *shivering* It is a very long story, and one I need not bore you with.
*softly* Ardeth still cares for you, you know….as do I. I have a confession, Isabella….you were the first woman I had ever made love with. Certainly you are the most unforgetable. I have found myself with others, but it was never the same as what we had between us. Would it be impertinent of me to wish aloud that we two queens might know each other once more?
OOC: *squee!!* Faelyn has been thinking alot of Isabella lately and clearly she is the one woman that my Muse has ever desired so much. And yes, Ardeth still holds a very strong place in his heart for Isabella, too. Whenever you want to bring her out to play, please know that safe space and time to take however long with your reps is there for you!