All I could do was wait, so I inspected myself in the mirror.  The best thing about me was those eyes.  They were my mother’s eyes, deep and sad.

The worst thing about me was my hair.  Thick and long and beautiful.  But the henna was turning that beautiful honey blonde as red as fall leaves.  Then the indigo would make it dark as ink.  I hated it.

I was furious.  With my father.  With my hair.  With myself.  I picked up the bowl that contained the rest of the henna, and threw it.

The mirror shattered.  I felt better.

--

Back to Eirlys again.  The dyeing with henna and indigo was a central part of my idea for the story, so I wanted to see how Eirlys responded to it.  Obviously on this particular day, she wasn't very pleased.

Interestingly, in the novel draft her eyes are her father's legacy, not her mother's.  I wonder where that changed.