'Et Voilà, do you like the back?'
Mary looked up from the magazine and stared in the mirror.
She'd asked Fleur to transform her and she certainly had.
She'd slunk into the hairdressers, wet from a car splashing through a puddle.
She stepped out, head high, relishing the curls bouncing on her shoulders. A car passed with a chorus of wolf whistles, a man on his bike blew a kiss.
A low voice in her ear, the one she wanted to hear, she turned round, the curls swayed and bounced.
'I'll never call you Mousy Mary again, please forgive me.'
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