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Well, no one could claim ‘twas a convincing mustache.
No’ yet.
She had a jar of the glue Nichola used on bandages, and all night. Surely she’d be able to shape it into something convincing?
She was tired of sitting here in Oliphant Castle waiting for something to happen.
Tomorrow, she was going to meet her future, and wrestle it—kicking and screaming—into something she liked.
Smiling, she reached for the dagger.
All this hair had to go.
