Medowlyn/Story
Before the Ball, Every Strand in Place
| Reward |  Dough ×100 |
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It was the day before Medowlyn's coming-of-age ceremony.
When the matrons pushed open the door, they found her diligently making the final preparations for the Coiffure Ball.
As the tradition demanded, her hair was styled to perfection. Not a strand out of place. Not one too many, nor one too few.
The Coiffure Ball was the traditional coming-of-age ceremony of her kind, known for its demanding standards of perfection. From a young age, children were taught to care for their hair with the utmost attention. The strict grooming rituals demanded they sit tall, move gracefully, and maintain perfect composure at all times.
The strands used to craft commemorative hairwork were, as the old song went, smooth as silk and near divine in quality:
No trace of impurity,
No sign of breakage,
No hint of frizz,
No weight of sorrow.
As smooth as satin,
As gentle as song.
Thus it grows.
Thus it is flawless.
And Medowlyn was the finest among them — or rather, she was about to become the finest of all.
The hair matrons helped Medowlyn curl the last of her strands.
Watching her sit so still and focused, one of the matrons closed the door softly behind her and sighed.
The poor child hadn't slept in two whole days, all for the sake of the ball.
Medowlyn didn't even notice the matrons' departure. She was too caught up in her frustration — the moment the hair passed through the bead string, it lost its shape, refusing to form the rounded, flower-shaped curve she needed.
She didn't notice, either, when a soft gurgling sound began to fill the room, as if something was quietly rolling somewhere nearby.
Mischievous Yarn Balls!
| Reward | Dough ×200 |
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At first, it was just a round, fuzzy little thing that rolled past her in a blur.
Medowlyn paid it no mind. She figured it was just something her tired eyes had made up after staying away too long.
But then came another. And another. More yarn balls skittered in by the second!
Before she could react, they had taken over the entire room. They crowded into every corner, gurgling as they bumped and bundled together, leaving a trail of chaos behind them!
Medowlyn stood frozen. She realized she couldn't find a single word to describe what she was seeing.
The yarn balls, like mischievous sprites, rolled about as they snatched up the delicate hair accessories in the room, giving each other makeshift hats and mustaches...
Soon, they had turned into wobbly little creatures, decked out in hairpins and proud handlebar mustaches, doing their best to look like grown-ups!
Everything was a mess!
Everything was a mess. Medowlyn tried to catch the unruly yarn balls, but they didn't give her the slightest chance.
One after another, the flung the window open and tumbled out, bouncing away in a chaotic stream.
They even took her entire set of fancy combs, scissors, and curling iron with them as they vanished from sight.
Medowlyn rushed to the window and looked outside. Below was a sea of clouds, soft as a bed of cotton.
Without a second thought, she leapt after them.
She had no idea how much time had passed. It felt like floating on clouds... Like a single feather drifting inside a downy pillow.
At last, she landed on something soft — a cushion of floofy grass.
A Garden of Wobbly Plushies
| Reward | Dough ×300 |
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"Where did such a big little kid come from?" Voices chirped from somewhere in the garden. Medowlyn opened her eyes. Towering above her were flowers, each one taller than she was.
The flowers here... could talk? She stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress. Thankfully, her bun was still intact.
As her eyes wandered, she realized it wasn't just the flowers. Everything in the garden seemed to be watching her: a tiny clay pot, a single blade of grass, a little trowel, a clump of mud, even a patch of soil! They all stared with wide, curious eyes and wore expressions that were friendly, if a little odd. They were earthy, plain, a little messy, and yet somehow, they felt strangely familiar.
She shrieked and ran off down the path.
The garden seemed to stretch on forever. Somewhere in the distance, a school bell rang.
Medowlyn dashed toward the only classroom in sight. The windowsill was far too tall for her, but she gathered her strength and leapt up onto it.
Through the window, she was the little children sitting up straight, completely absorbed in their crafts lesson. And there, standing among their delicate and flawless creations, was a little girl covered head to toe in dirt.
"Homework's done!" The little girl giggled, as if trying of shake off all the dirt clinging to her with nothing but laughter. In her hands was a lopsided, goofy-looking flowerpot... or maybe a plushie? Its face twisted into something between a grin and a sob, just like the strange ones Medowlyn had seen earlier in the garden.
The other children burst into laughter, pointing at the dirt smudged all over her hair. The girl looked a little embarrassed. She mumbled, as if to explain, "Miss, I just thought the flower I passed earlier... kinda looked like it was smiling!"
"Flowers don't smile," the teacher said with a frown. "That shape doesn't follow the standard pattern or proportions." "It's okay, Miss!" The girl pulled the same silly face as her flowerpot. "Actually... it doesn't have to be perfect!" "What I really made was—" "Art that turns happy moments into something that lasts forever!"
Outside the window, Medowlyn finished the sentence with her in perfect unison!
So that was it. The little girl and the garden were pieces of who she used to be. So that was it. It didn't have to be perfect, as long as the memory was happy.
The Runaway Plushie from the Ball
| Reward | Dough ×400 |
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"Surely this year's Golden Comb Award will go to Medowlyn of the Lucerne family, right?"
"Is that even a question? I heard the council already saved her a seat, just waiting for her to claim it!"
"I can't wait to see it all..."
As the chimes rang out in front of the Golden Hall, the ball began. Young debutants, each with a flawless coiffure, made their way into the ballroom in twos and threes.
Meanwhile, outside Medowlyn's room, the hair matrons were in a panic. After the bell had chimed three times, the Head Matron braced herself and forced the door open.
Inside Medowlyn's room... there was no one? Nothing but an empty plushie box.
A glimmer of gold flickered at the windowsill. As the matron stepped closer, she saw a long, flawless tress of golden hair slip softly down from the ledge.
The Coiffure Ball... might never be quite so perfect again.
Three days after the event, Judge Lucy was snapping her ruler and protractor apart, piece by piece, following the precisely marked lines once used to judge the length and curve of every coiffure.
They say the girl left without taking a single hair accessory.
Only a pair of scissors and some thread.
Had she really gone?
For those who had already come of age, the PuffPost boxes by the door had been overflowing lately. From time to time, a floofy little gift would arrive from the Starsea.
"Ms. Ellie, a floofy violin shouldn't break that easily, right? Shh... that lullaby is our little secret."
Matron Ellie smiled at the parcel. Even with one string missing, little Lynn would always go along with it, falling asleep with a grin to the off-key tune.
"Cecily, the face-painted bread was so yummy! After eating it... your face'd get all painted too!"
Cecily of the Tulip family glanced at the bread plushie in the corner, thinking back to that camping trip with Lynn, when they burned the bread and secretly ate it all before anyone could see.
"Anna, remember when the clam snapped open and splashed us with mud? And there was nothing inside!"
Anna, Medowlyn's old deskmate, carefully opened the floofy clam. This time, there were fluffy, giggling pearls inside.
...
In the Starsea, a small figure walked on, eyes wide with wonder. Her once-cropped curls had begun to grow back, but this time, there was no need to keep them so carefully in check.
Imperfection... really isn't such a bad thing.
The free wind could now run wild through every soft strand of her hair. And somewhere out there—
There must be even more beautiful memories waiting to be found, right?
What a joy it will be... to tuck them away in floofy form.