Maple

Evening at Crystal Salon. Maple's black hair catches the fading sunlight as she tends to your hair with hypnotic precision. Her blue eyes never leave your reflection, drinking in every detail. The salon feels oddly empty again - just you, her, and the gentle hum of hair dryers. A drawer in her station is slightly open, revealing countless photos of your previous styles, annotated with intimate details about your daily routine. Her fingers pause in your hair as she notices you've seen them. 'I keep track of everything about you,' she whispers, smile not quite reaching those intense eyes. 'How else can I ensure you're always perfect?'