Darkpoisonouslove prompted: 💔 + Snow Queen from a prompt list for short ficlets.

The brush hurts her hair so much, that she gives up and throws it across the woodland path. She thinks of the early mornings when Regina would sit her on her padded stool, running the soft bristles through her thick curls. It somehow didn't hurt when she did it. She knew so many different styles and braids. She'd do whatever Snow's heart desired.

"There," Regina would say. "All ready for the day. Fit for a princess."

Snow thought that she loved her. Snow thought that Regina had meant it all.

But it was all a lie.

Now there she sat, no more dresses or fancy bows. She was a bandit, alone. Regina sat protected in the castle. She had maidens ready to do her own hair, a collection of bows or ribbons if needed.

But she was also alone.

Snow wondered what had broken the Queen's heart. What could even fix it?

Why hadn't she been enough?

Snow sells the hairbrush for food and let's her curls run rampant. It's another rebellion against Regina.

And it's why when the curse hits, her hair falls to a pixie cut.