The Pink Hair Predicament
But the galactic pinktuk had ulterior motives. They'd said from time immemorial that you couldn't trust pinktuk. All the chaos and disasters in the world stemmed from them, so if you spotted one, run away...
...or so my little sister had warned, shoving Bathory's illustration right in my face.
So tell me, sis—if I've become that very pinktuk you're warning about, what am I supposed to do? Shave my head? As tempting as that sounds, I really don't want to go full buzzcut.
"Schuett. What do you think of pink hair?"
"Pink hair? Um... it's pretty unique, right?"
In a fantasy setting like this, even with a Western foundation, you see all sorts of rare hair and eye colors that'd be impossible in the real world—especially natural ones, not dyed. My commonsense question of how can two-tone hair be natural? got shot down with a single "It's fantasy, duh" from my sister, so after that, I decided not to sweat the realism of fantasy appearances.
"When I picture it... it's a bright, pretty color, but it also gives off this seductive, dangerous vibe..."
"Is that so."
But pink hair—that is, pingtuk—feels a bit different.
"So you're saying I give off a seductive, dangerous vibe."
"Yes!? N-no, not at all! I wasn't talking about you, miss...!!"
Part of it was my sister's constant yapping about pinktuk this and that, but more than anything, it bugged me because this very pink hair was sprouting from my own head. Eh, whatever.
"It's a strange feeling."
My reflection in the mirror still felt alien. Could I even call this me? My name, my gender, every trace of my old self—gone.
Bathory Mirhane. Why did I have to possess a villainess, of all things? If it'd been some minor extra from a well-off family, I'd be way more at ease right now.
"So, Schuett. Why'd you park me in front of the mirror since morning?"
Irritated and restless, I snapped at Schuett, who'd plopped me here without a word.
"I'm better than yesterday, sure, but my body's far from healed."
This unreliable maid had a brutish side. Every time she supported me, it felt less like handling a person and more like hauling luggage. And not just the strength—she gripped some vial reeking of harsh chemicals. Just sniffing it made me feel worse.
"Pardon? Oh, that... it's time to dye your hair. You always blow up if we're even a little late..."
"Dye...? Ah."
Come to think of it, she wasn't natural-born pinktuk. In the original story, anyone with Mirhane blood had pale pink hair and pink eyes. Like Urtic.
But Bathory was some stray Moonlight picked up from who-knows-where, roots unknown. The pink hair and eyes were probably from a spell. Even that wasn't perfect—by the late game, her hair was half white.
I'd wondered why not earlier, but turns out she used dye. Now I noticed the white strands mixed in like grays, peeking through the pale pink in the mirror. Bathory's flaw, symbolizing her instability.
"..."
Looking closer, she wasn't even perfect pinktuk. Fake pinktuk? Artificial pinktuk? Wonder what that bald guy would say.
"Ha."
"...Is something wrong?"
"No. Just... the dye smells kinda harsh."
What did that even matter now? Lately, my mind kept wandering like this. Guess that meant my heart was in turmoil.
"Make it quick, please. I've got someone to see."
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
Push stray thoughts aside for now. Time to focus on the act, the role.
"Can't show up empty-handed. Should we prepare a gift?"
"A gift?"
"Yeah, to repay the tea. What did Urtic Mirhane like in the original? She shows up mid-story and isn't a huge character, so it's fuzzy."
"Schuett, does that girl have any particular likes?"
"You mean Miss Urtic? As far as I know, herbs... and medicine..."
"..."
Awkward. Gems or food would've been easy, but herbs or meds were Urtic's specialty. No way I'd find anything better than what Urtic or Eclair au Chocolat enchanted and grew themselves.
"She loves tea too... and..."
Tea was the same issue. That fragrant blend Urtic gave me? Unmatched. Even without magic, those two had killer green thumbs. That's how they grew such prime herbs and leaves.
"...Ah! Come to think of it... she loves growing things! Watching her plants grow makes her super happy..."
"Growing things..."
A sudden curiosity hit me.
"Does she like raising animals too?"
Herbs and tea were plants. Liking plants didn't mean animals. Animals move, eat, poop. Way more hassle than plants.
"Small ones, maybe...?"
"Hmm..."
But if she did like animals, I had the perfect gift in mind. Something suited to a witch who loved darkness and night.
——
I wheeled back to the library entrance. Knocked on the door, then stood.
"You sure you're okay?"
"She hates wheelchair squeaks, so no choice."
Still hurt, but the tea helped—a lot.
"And if I let you manhandle me more, something might actually break."
"Haha... hahaha..."
"You're laughing?"
"...It tickles..."
She thinks I'm joking? Dead serious.
"Stay here. I'll be out once I'm done."
"Understood..."
Leaving deflated Schuett behind, I stepped through the now-open door.
No welcome this time. Magic unlock?
Thud, thud. In heels, the clicks would've echoed through this vast, dim space. It was that quiet—and eerie. Ghost wouldn't be out of place here.
"What brings you?"
"Gah!?"
She popped up right as I thought it. Pale skin, lifeless eyes. If not a ghost, what?
"Guess you really were a guy. That scream was manly, not some shrill girlie wail."
"Y-you scared me..."
Second look: Eclair au Chocolat, not a ghost. Age and looks aside.
"You just thought something mighty rude."
"Just my imagination."
Rubbing my still-smarting tailbone from the fall, I stood.
"So, what's the deal? And what's that in your hand?"
"Loved the tea from Urtic, so reciprocating."
"Hah. You saying that in that getup? Doesn't just mismatch—gives me a headache looking at it."
True, real Bathory wouldn't dream of repaying a gift. But I aimed for dignified, ladylike villainess. A reinterpretation, say.
"Where's Urtic?"
"Still sleeping. She prefers night to day. Me too."
Were all witches nocturnal? Made sense—nights fit the image better than broad daylight.
"Pass it on for me? Ah, handle gently—it might break."
"Deliver it yourself. Don't make me your errand girl."
"Sure~"
Yeah, no way this witch would play nice.
"So, where's Urtic now?"
"Five shelves ahead, right turn, straight to the dead end, left, then ten more shelves..."
"..."
Instructions straight out of a nightmare. Even libraries wouldn't guide like that...
"Five shelves... right... straight... dead end left... ten shelves... Ah."
Finally, a tiny side door appeared. Had to crouch—no, crawl to fit.
Opening it, I reunited with Urtic.
"...Zzz..."
And her suffocating nook. Buried in plush cushions under a blanket, dead to the world. Curtains blocked the lone window, worsening the stuffiness.
...But the real issue was...
"Eclair? You there?"
"Yup."
"Can we get her out of here?"
"Why?"
The tiny room? Or the bedding?
"She needs a bath."
She stinks.