extension of self

She sat ramrod straight, her legs crossed, and her hair falling down her back unbridled. The fabric of her slip and dressing gown soft against her skin and pooling around her. The feeling of warm, dry fingers working their way through her hair, carefully twisting and pinning each lock in place.

"Head back, mija," murmured her mother, gently pulling to encourage her to tilt backwards.

Obediently, she tilted her head back, allowing herself to be immersed in the old ritual. The feeling of hands in her hair, the teeth of the comb against her scalp. The warmth of the sunlight filtering through the open windows. The scent of mint and starflower oil. The smell of spiced tea, warm bread, and starblossom butter. She closed her eyes.

"Hand me a hair pin, will you mija?"

She reached out blindly, grasping a hold on the cool, smooth surface of an old hair pin and handed to her mother over her shoulders.

"Which braid are you doing mama," she asked, curious.

"The Falls, mija," said her mama, "The Falls of Aldera."

A comfortable silence settled between them. She allowed herself to enjoy the moment. The morning was always her favorite time of day from the warmth of the morning sun to the feeling of her mother doing her hair. A time just for them and no one else.

"Alright mija," said mama, "Look at your hair, Leia."

Leia stared at her reflection. No longer did she look the role of Crown Princess of Alderaan, Jewel of Aldera, dignified and regal. No longer did she look like the princess preparing to become the Crown Princess, and trying to look grown up and proper. No longer did she look like the young princess who would sit on a cushioned stool in front of her mother's vanity, her mother taking care and patience in crafting each hairstyle. No longer was she the little girl running through the palace halls, ribbons in her hair. No longer was she even just a daughter, doing her hair with her mother.

From mother to daughter the art of our hairstyle, our braids, are passed down in an unbroken line, her mother would say, Every lock of hair, every twist, every knot, every braid, every pin comes together to form a story, a meaning, passed down through our history. Our hair is an extension of self, mija. Through our hair we can tell people who we are.

Slowly, she brushed out every lock of hair until it was smooth and knot free. She felt the teeth and comb glide over her scalp. The nut oil she worked into her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. The scrapping of her nails as she parted her hair into sections. The braiding and twisting and pinning of locks. All of it soothing, familiar, but still feeling so wrong.

A hard shell comb was meant to be used to comb out hair. The oil worked into her hair should be plant oil from the native trees of Alderaan, not the oil from other planets. Her hair should be pinned with wooden pins from the forest of Alderaan, or antique pins of gold or silver and inlaid with jewels from the mountains outside Aldera, or with pearls from the Great Seas or the Salt Rivers. The hands doing her hair should be her mother's or TooVee's.

"Why do you always wear your hair this way, mama," asked Leia as she combed gently through her mother's hair, parting sections, pinning away the excess, and fetching the pins and ribbons.

"Because, mija," said Queen Breha, "This shows who I am. It is the best representation of myself there can be."

Alderaan was gone. Her culture was gone. Her people were gone. Her family was gone. And she remained.

How was she to express herself when everything felt so wrong? What was she to do with her people and culture gone? Who was she truly? What part of self was she to express? All she had left was echoes of the past.

We weave a story using only our hair, her mother said, It is for all to see. Never let them say we never told them who we are, our histories, our stories —

Leia finished the last braid, twisting it up into place. She slid in the final pin. And she looked at herself in the mirror.

Alderaan was gone. Her culture was gone. Her people were gone. Her family was gone. But she remained. She was still here. Generations upon generations came to a point with her. Their histories and their stories and their traditions passed down from mother to daughter to rest on her shoulders. The lives of so many rested within her. She carried them with her: her foremothers and all of her people lost to the Empire.

—if they do not listen or pay attention, it is their own fault that they do not know who we are.

Leia walked through the base, head held high and spine straight with her shoulders back. This was her. She remained of Alderaan, Jewel of the Core. She was a rebel, a fighter. A leader and a survivor. Let the Empire never forget just who they had chosen to fight.

Author's Note: I am on a role. This is my second story publishing this week and just a day after the last one. I hope I can keep this up.

So, I wrote this story on a whim because I wanted to write it, self indulgent worldbuilding and headcanons included. I love Leia and Breha, and the role of hair within Alderaan culture. From what I have found in canon unbraiding the hair of an Alderaanian is very intimate and symbolizes trust.

The rest of this is of my own interpretation and headcanons with my attempts at worldbuilding. I am just fascinated how in so many different real world cultures hair is a very important part of their culture for various reasons such as self expression or for religious reasons. I wanted to incorporate that into Alderaan and their established importance of hair by some of the canon books. I also just love Alderaan and Queen Breha, and I wished there was more in canon involving the planet and its Queen.

The hairstyle Breha does for Leia in the beginning is named for the falles of Valencia, a traditional hairstyle from Spain worn during Fallas Festival of Valencia. It is absolutely gorgeous. Since Alderaan seems to be very Latinx coded with Breha being played by an actress of Spanish-Filipino descent I decided to draw ideas from Spain and Latin America for this fic. Hence the use of "mija" as well. The title also comes from the belief among certain cultures that hair is an extension of self or the soul. I also got some inspiration from other people who wrote about Leia and Breha and Alderaan such as: "Hope and Change" by aimmyarrowshigh on A03 and the reasons for stars blog on tumblr.

That's all. I welcome feedback, reviews, and constructive criticism. I could especially use some feedback on writing Leia better because I feel like I didn't get her quite right. Flames are unwelcome and unnecessary. Have a good day or night.

-Miss Corrine

Published April 24th, 2020. Edited same day.