Her hair had gotten long.

Almost four weeks came and went since the carnival. She'd left with her ego bruised and shoulder dislocated, a wonderful combination when you've just been thrown into your crush by a deceptively strong general. It had started to rain three blocks from the carnival, and by the time she'd gotten to the hospital, Mary was drenched, shivering, and in pain. The doctor had given her six weeks in a sling, and prescribed physical therapy for two months after shoving her shoulder back into place. Amazing thing about being a magical being: healing time was cut down significantly.

It helped, too, that she'd only dislocated and not torn anything. She lifted her right arm slowly, trying to decide on what to do with her hair. It was still sore, and weaker than it used to be, but it was healing nicely all things considered.

She stared in the mirror, running her fingers through the blonde strands. Mary wasn't sure when they'd gotten so long - her hair came to her shoulders now - but there it was. In the past, this was the moment she would've gone out and gotten it cut again, a tapered A-line under her chin. Now...

During her healing process, Mary spent most of the time wallowing. If she couldn't protect or help Celsus fight, how was she to be worthy of transcendence? How was she to be worthy of her title? The normally very happy young woman fell became depressed, and melancholy. Not even her Grams' tea and cookies could bring her out of it.

Why, though? A question she'd asked herself numerous times, trying to figure out why she was upset about the whole thing. It wasn't the first time she'd utterly failed in combat; she started out with Turkish wedding rings of all things, she was used to being at a disadvantage. In fact, she tended to stay on the outskirts trying to protect people more than actually fighting. So the ploy to try to give Celsus an opening failed. It also wouldn't be the first time she'd been thrown.

So why did this time hurt worse than the others?

Mary worried her lip, fingers pulling the front part of her hair into a thick braid and curved it around her head.

It wasn't that she was now 'unworthy' of the Bifrost. Getting thrown into a team mate generally didn't deem you unworthy simply because you misjudged the encounter. She simply tried to be helpful, and it did not go as planned. As her Grams' had said: "sometimes s**t happens." So no, that wasn't it.

She pulled plaits of hair through the braid, letting it almost 'waterfall' over her ear.

No, she realized as she stabbed a bobby pin into her skull trying ot keep the braid from coming loose. It was because she'd crushed on a young man who'd showed her affection and she admired. The realization brought color to her cheeks and she pointedly focused on the hairpins trying to free themselves from her hair. Mary shook with laughter, falling into a fit of giggles at the whole concept itself. It boiled down to the fact she was worried he wouldn't like her simply because she'd screwed up one time.

That was hilarious. That was more hilarious than the idea of her Grams going with her on patrol wearing a homemade super hero costume (which, in fact, was a real conversation some months prior).

Celsus would understand, just as any of the Chronos knights would. She was not their leader, in truth. While she wished to set a good example, really there was only so much you could do with a rope chain when your only frame of reference for combat was flashy movie combat. In addition, it wasn't her job to lead them. Technically that was Chronos herself, wherever the Butterfly Princess maybe. Transcendence would come when her wonder deemed her ready for it. All she had to do was just do her best, as always.

Mary smiled at herself, rather enjoying the braid and the lightness in her heart.

Getting all melancholy over a crush. Silly little Mary.

[ WC: 694 ]