Silken Graveyard

 

Silken Graveyard

Elena always had a type.

Long hair. Flowing, untouched by scissors, cascading past the shoulders like a waterfall of silk. She wasn’t interested in dyed or damaged strands—only the purest, most natural beauty. Some people collected art. Some collected antiques.

Elena collected hair.

The first time she took a lock, she convinced herself it was innocent.

She had been seeing a girl—Lily, with honey-blonde hair that tumbled down her back like golden thread. One night, as Lily lay sleeping in Elena’s bed, Elena’s fingers drifted through those perfect strands, mesmerized.

A sudden, dark thought whispered in her mind. What if it was mine?

Before she knew it, scissors were in her hands. A quick snip. Just a small piece. Lily never even noticed.

Elena kept it in a silk pouch, running her fingers over it when she was alone. It was supposed to be enough.

But it wasn’t.

It became an obsession.

She started seeking them out—girls with beautiful, untouched hair. She watched them in coffee shops, in bookstores, on the subway. She memorized the way they flicked their locks over their shoulders, how they twisted strands around their fingers.

Elena wasn’t interested in love anymore. Just possession.

And possession required sacrifice.

Sophie was her latest fixation.

She had the kind of hair that made Elena’s breath hitch—thick, jet-black, cascading past her waist. It swung hypnotically when she walked, catching the light in the most perfect way.

Elena had followed her for days, learning her patterns. Sophie liked to jog in the evenings, taking a quiet path through the park. Alone.

One night, Elena made her move.

She waited in the shadows, heartbeat steady, hands gripping the cloth soaked in chloroform. As Sophie passed, Elena struck. A brief struggle, muffled gasps—then silence.

Sophie woke in a dimly lit room, wrists tied to the arms of an antique chair. Panic set in as she struggled, her breath quick and shallow.

A woman sat before her, calmly brushing a lock of Sophie’s hair between her fingers.

Elena smiled. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

Sophie whimpered as she saw the silver scissors gleaming in Elena’s other hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Elena said softly, twirling a strand around her finger. “I just want this.”

The scissors slid open.

“No, please—” Sophie sobbed, but the first snip silenced her.

Elena closed her eyes, sighing as the strands tumbled to the floor. She ran her fingers through the newly shorn locks, savoring the feel.

When the last piece was cut, she carefully gathered the hair and placed it in a silk-lined box among dozens of others—each labeled with the name of the girl it once belonged to.

She turned back to Sophie, brushing her fingers through the jagged remains.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Sophie was still trembling, her breath ragged.

Elena tilted her head.

Now came the hard part.

She never let them go.