“Soup anyone?” Melvin asks innocently to both.
“Not now, Melvin, thank you.”
The small demon dutifully withdrew toward the stairs, biding his time. Chloe directed her attention back to the visitor who had just teleported in through her offer.
“Okay, Sandy. What’s going on? *Are* you still Sandy? You look all weird.”
“Well,” Sandy Wanna Be tried to counter. “How about *you*? Where’s, um, your *hair*?”
“I have hair. Blue like the sky. The sea and the sky both.” But here she reaches up to feel her stringy, wet curls and only grasps air. “Whe – where *is* it?? Aaarrgggh.” She flings the swim cap into the sea from which she just came at this point. I mean, the stream from which she just came. One of ’em, perhaps both of ’em. She pats and feels and pats and slaps. Still no hair to find up there. Certainly she would be pulling it now if she had some.
“May I suggest,” Sandy WB then said, watching over at the tantrum, “that someone *stole* it,” and with this himself disappears. Teleported out to safer lands. He didn’t like scenes.
She tries to google “instant hair loss” on her smart phone but stops at the lock screen displaying her name. It was here she noticed something else missing about her: the “h” in Chloe. Cloe instead of Chloe, it said. She looked around in disbelief, shaking her bare head, but in just a moment forgot all about both losses.
Melvin approached again with upheld bowl. “Soup, miss?”
Perspective shortened, she “accidentally” dipped her hand into the morbid concoction. The hand disappears, followed by the rest.