Medowlyn/Story
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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.
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| Reward | Dough ×? |
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| Reward | Dough ×? |
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