Memoirs of a bren-ded boi

Once upon a time, in the faraway land of Arasnamad, there was a palace of wonders called the First Prime. This palace, unlike many others, were totally opened to the public to enter and leave as they like for half a day. Thus, First Prime was always full of merchants and traders, tourists and locals, princes and paupers, entertainers and philosophers, even thieves and pickpockets, all mingling together, all engaged in their private business and errands.

However, hidden in a high minaret in a corner of the palace a dark, dirty business took place. Disguised as a beauty consultant no one realised the evil truth about the shop's actual motive. Only one poor victim managed to escape, scarred but alive. This is his tale.

All the nooks and crannies of First Prime have I explored, most of the regular patrons and merchants are familiar to me. There is no corridor, no balcony, no walkway or garden unknown to me. Until one day I happen to chance upon this corner of the palace. The crowd here is smaller, and oddly enough the atmosphere here felt...quieter. I could see no palace staff as well, no guards, no courtiers, no servants.

People here were suspicious-looking. While all were finely garbed, with elegant cuts in the latest fashion, there was a sense of secrecy amonst them and a furtive look in their eyes. All of them looked young. My curiousity was piqued. I ventured into the minaret where these people were either heading to or from.

What matter of business is being run here that makes people so secretive? Even Mr Argaiv's customer's aren't all that embarassed when doing business with him:

I headed up the minaret.

It was a beauty parlour.

Sassafras' Beauty Consultation. Funny, nothing to be necessary secretive about it. And since I am already here it would be a waste not to have a consultation. Ms Sassafras' scrutinizing made me slightly uncomfortable, as a child would scrutinize an insect before deciding if he would hammer it. I was then told that my hair was unnaturally healthy!

"Your hair, it is not right! Hair must be vibrant! Your hair, it shows your character, your beauty, your vim! Yours does not! It's naturalness must be restored!"

Her forcefulness, I admit, cowed me. I meekly gave in to her suggestions for colouring, a trim and hair treatment.

I was surprised. Her equipment was far unnatural to restore naturalness.The heavy air of unguents and perfume made me heavy. Was lulled into a semi-dazed state before I realised the reason for my feeling slow.


My bren was bein cookd!