DREAM IV

4As I guide the girl into the dressing room, gesturing motions for her to settle on the pristine white bench. Her putting trust in me, for some reason; it feels a bit peculiar, but my genuine intent is to assist her, not out of obligation.The girl complies and takes a seat, her white hair gracefully cascading around her like a delicate veil. Running my fingers through her hair, I can't help but appreciate its mesmerizing quality—frozen strands catching the light, beautiful yet slightly unruly. "Let's see if I can help," I tell her, opening a drawer and searching for a pair of scissors. Once I find them, I turn towards her with a reassuring smile.Thinking about it, I've never done this before, but how difficult could it be? My aim is to make her feel more comfortable and tidy up those unruly edges. What could possibly go wrong? With care, I start trimming away at the strands, taking my time to ensure precision. The atmosphere remains gentle, and I try my best to create a comforting environment. "I hope this isn't too intrusive. But, hey, it's just a haircut.""There we go. How does that feel?" After finishing up with the prodding edges, the girl stays silent but gives a small nod, expressing her appreciation for the effort. I continue, with each cut moving further to the longer stands, which were awfully resilient yet enchanting, seemingly indestructible."It's like cutting through ice, but it's not cold. Is it made of metal? Why is it impenetrable? How does her hair even work?" I became more aware of the peculiar nature of her hair; her hair tuft were easy to cut off as they were relatively weaker than the main hair. As I attempt a more forceful trim, the scissors encounter resistance, and unexpectedly, I nick my finger."Ouch!" I exclaim, "That's odd. It tastes salty." Without much thought, I instinctively put my finger in my mouth, surprised by the unexpected flavour. The girl watches with curious eyes. Another oddity, usually the taste of blood would be iron but the very taste of my blood wasn't—it was salty.—"Salty? Why does my blood taste salty?"Dismissing the strange taste in my mouth, I withdrew my finger and inspected it, finding a subtle blueish stain. Glancing at 102, I assured her, "Just a scratch, nothing to worry about. It'll heal soon. Now, about your hair—can't touch the main part, but those unruly strands, what do you think? Trim them a bit or keep them as they are? Maybe give it a fresh dressing, a new look?" She nodded in agreement, signalling the go-ahead.Grabbing a brush, I carefully combed through her hair, tidying up the strands. The end result preserved her original charm while taming the ornate parts. Handing her a mirror, I asked, "What do you think? Beautiful?" —Her silence made me a bit uneasy, and I mumbled, "Sorry, I considered trying something new, but I guess the original suits you better for now." She nodded in agreement, and a wave of relief washed over me. "Glad you like it."
—Din—Don—Don—
As the bell tolled, a sudden jolt surged through my head, disrupting the tranquillity like an unwelcome guest. The echoes of the tolling seemed to amplify the turmoil within my mind. Memories, once dormant, stirred like a tempest, threatening to break free from their confines.A series of images flashed before my eyes—a chaotic montage of faces, places, and emotions. It was as if the bell had triggered a cascade of recollections, each more intense than the last. I clenched my fists, attempting to anchor myself amidst the swirling storm of my own memories. 
—Din—Din—
The tolling persisted, merging with the dissonance in my mind."Bl...?" The concern in 102's voice cut through the haze, bringing a momentary reprieve. I steadied myself, offering a strained smile. "Just a momentary glitch. I'll be fine."
—don. 
As the bell's resonance gradually subsided, I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that the disturbance within me was far from over.My gaze fell over the book 102.I examined the book she held, its cover proudly declaring "Princess Knight." Perplexed, I questioned, "What's up with this book?" She gently shook her head, indicating it wasn't intended for me to read. Seeking clarity, I proposed, "Do you want me to read it to you?" Another subtle shake of her head followed. Baffled, I pressed, "So, what do you want me to do with the book?" Taking a closer look, I noticed it differed from the typical all-white books on the library shelves—this one was colored.