In the small, unremarkable town of penacony, there was a salon known as "Stelle’s hair." The place had a reputation for transforming dull, lifeless hair into radiant locks of luxury. The owner, Stelle, was a woman with an almost otherworldly beauty. Her mid-length, gray hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves, as if it were crafted by the aeons themselves. But there was something unsettling about her — a coldness that lingered in her smile, a darkness hidden beneath her serene exterior.

The town's residents spoke in hushed tones about a mysterious product she always seemed to use: Argenti’s Shampoo. It was a special line of haircare, manufactured in small batches by a company no one had ever heard of. The bottles were sleek and metallic, glinting silver in the sunlight, and the shampoo itself had an almost unnatural sheen. People who used it found their hair shining brighter, their strands growing thicker and healthier with each use.

But with each compliment on the hair came a quiet warning. The rumors said the shampoo came with a price.

It started with Kou. One who’d moved to penacony only recently, she was enchanted by the salon’s reputation. Her hair, long but brittle from years of neglect, was transformed after one treatment of Argenti’s Shampoo. It shimmered under the lights, flowing like silk, drawing compliments from every person she met.

At first, it was a dream. Kou was thrilled, her confidence soaring with every glance and whispered praise. But then the nightmares began.

She dreamed of her hair—twisting, writhing, growing longer, thicker, and heavier, until it smothered her. She woke in the night, feeling it tugging at her scalp, pulling at her skin, trying to burrow into her flesh. Each morning, she would find strands of hair scattered across her pillow, long and tangled like threads of spider silk.

She went back to Stelle’s salon, desperate for help. But when she walked through the door, Stelle’s smile seemed a little too wide, her eyes a little too cold.

“You’ve been using the shampoo, haven’t you?” Stelle asked, her voice evil and knowing.

Kou nodded, clutching the edge of the counter.
Stelle stepped closer, and Kou saw that her eyes were not reflecting the light as they should. They were dark, as if they had no depth, no soul.

“Argenti’s Shampoo isn’t just a product,” Stelle murmured. “It’s a vessel. It… takes what it needs.”

Kou froze. “What do you mean?”

Stelle leaned in closer, her lips barely moving as she spoke. “It feeds on your soul. It feeds on your essence, your energy. The more you use it, the more it wants. And soon, it won’t just be your hair it takes. It will claim you.”

Suddenly, Kou felt the weight on her scalp increase, as though her hair had grown far too long in just an instant. She staggered back, her hands grabbing at her head, her fingers brushing against something... soft, but wrong.

Stelle’s gaze was fixed on her, smug. “Don’t you see? You’re already too far gone.”

Panicking, Kou ran from the salon, clutching her head. As she reached her apartment, she looked in the mirror, horrified. Her hair had grown impossibly long, draping down to the floor. It wasn’t just hair anymore—it was alive, curling and slithering as if it had a mind of its own. The longer she stared, the more it seemed to pulse, moving like a living organism, its roots embedded deep into her skull.

She tried to cut it, to tear it away, but the strands only grew back faster. Her reflection in the mirror grinned at her, a cruel, mocking smile forming where her own should have been.

And then, she felt it—the tug, the pull from deep within. Her skin began to tighten, as though her hair was drawing her soul out, inch by painful inch.

By morning, Kou was gone. Her apartment was empty, save for the silvery strands of hair, twisted and knotted around the furniture, the walls, the floor. No one knew where she had gone, but the town whispered of her disappearance for years.

In Stelle’s salon, the bottles of Argenti’s Shampoo still lined the shelves. They gleamed, untouched by time, waiting for their next victim.

And to this day, anyone who uses the shampoo in Penacong soon learns the truth: It’s not just your hair it wants. It wants you. It will always want you.

And than boothill bought some