Ravyn blinked, tracing the plait once, twice, then a third time. “You cut her hair?” The Nightmare jerked out of his grasp. “It was matted with blood.” Ravyn peered back through the cellar’s open door. A pair of scissors sat upon the old wooden table. There were chunks of dark hair on the floor. Whatever crossed his face stopped the Nightmare in his tracks. The monster peered through narrowed eyes, dropping his gaze to Ravyn’s knotted hands. “It will grow back,” he said slowly.
